Love Lessons
by Anthea Rose
Summary: When her dream of wedding night bliss goes up in flames, Sophie learns what problems come from marrying a man with the heart of a child. A sensual story to add a little variety beyond the fluffy fairy tale.
1. In Which Sophie Dreams

Sophie rolled over onto her stomach, her lavender silk nightgown twisting around her legs. She clutched at her sheets desperately, too enraptured in her dream to hear the soft creak of her bedroom door opening, and even the chuckle that drifted from the doorway.

"Howl .. nmph .. mmm … How-ow-mmph .." she muttered incoherently, suddenly gripping the sheets harder and slightly arching her back, restlessly turning her head this way and that.

Howl shut the door as quietly as he had opened it, satisfied now that nothing was amiss with his fiancée. _Just a harmless nightmare_, he thought sleepily to himself, smirking a little as he re-entered the kitchen, eager for a bit of a midnight snack.

Calcifer, awoken both by Sophie's dream-induced outburst and Howl's walk down the stairs, flickered wickedly at him from his place in the hearth.

"You see," he said, annoyed at the distruption, "She's having nightmares about spending the rest of her life with you. She reminds me of myself."

"Don't be ridiculous, Calcifer," Howl replied cheerfully, feeling energized even at such an ungodly hour. "She's dreaming of the wedding. You heard my name – she's reciting the vows."

"She's crying it out mournfully as she runs back down the isle."

"Bend down your head, old friend."

"Never!" spat Calcifer, flaring up and sending orange and red sparks into his surrounding ashes. "You have the audacity to wake me in the middle of the night, then ask me to _cook_ for you? I'm going back to sleep."

"I only want some warm milk. Besides … wasn't it Sophie who woke you?"

"It's not Sophie with a pan in her hand at the crack of dawn."

"Fine, then. I'll set your logs out in the fog for a few hours, let them soak it all in. How would you like that?"

Calcifer flickered low on his log, his narrowed eyes peering up at Howl with obvious dislike. The blue-eyed young man only smiled down warmly in return, and with a black puff of smoke, Calcifer relented.

"Only because it's Sophie's wedding day," he muttered, bending down.

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Several hours later, Sophie stirred in her bed, her eyes fluttering at the sun that poured in through the windows lining a single wall of her bedroom. She yawned, pulling herself up and stretching her arms into the air, her silver hair cascading messily across her shoulders.

It was then she noticed that her nightgown had worked itself up to the middle of her thighs, her sheets twisted horribly and piled toward the end of her bed. She blinked, remembering suddenly the dream that had consumed her only minutes before … and then proceeded to blush various shades of red, each deeper than the next as she recalled each new detail.

She swallowed hard, trying to rationalize the memories as best she could.

_It's perfectly natural,_ she thought meekly to herself. _I'm sure every girl feels eager, or nervous, or scared, just before her wedding night._

The only problem with this excuse was that, in her dream, she had felt neither nervous nor scared – mostly, she had just felt wild and deliciously out of control, and mostly, she had just wanted more and more.

Sophie bent her head in shame. _A person can't control their dreams,_ she thought to herself, climbing out of bed and resting her bare feet on the cool wooden floor below. She looked toward the windows, seeing her wedding dress beautifully displayed in the sunshine.

It was a simple gown, as anyone might expect from her, but still quite lovely, beautiful even. Lettie had helped her pick it out, and she remembered standing before the shop's three-way mirror, every angle of her body draped in luscious white silk. The dress had off-the-shoulder sleeves meant to be paired with arm-length gloves, and had an empire waist singed with a wide white silk bow that tied in the back. The collar was a gentle v-shape that displayed her neck and collarbone. And, of course, the whole piece was covered with a long, sheer white veil.

Sophie smiled shyly at the dress, hardly believing that today was the day she would wear it, taking Howl's hand in silk-gloved fingers, her flushed cheeks hidden behind the veil until the wonderful moment when he would lift it and gently raise her chin, kissing his new wife.

Her insides stirred happily at the final word. Finally, there would be a sensible reason for her cleaning a man's house for no money, and finally, she would move from her own little bedroom and into the lavishly decorated, if wildly cluttered, bedroom kept by Howl.

Sophie felt guilty for disliking the room, as Howl had given it to her with such warmth, and out of such kindness. He hadn't known that the shelves and table lining the wall represented to her the life she had almost gotten herself trapped in. That, and it was painful, in an aching, discomforting way, to kiss Howl goodnight only to quietly shut the bedroom door on his retreating back.

"Well, no more of that," she whispered to herself, gleeful at the chance to forsake being prudish within a situation that fully allowed for it. It felt silly, sometimes, to still adhere to the rules of society even as she floated miles above it, housed with the Wizard Howl and a fire demon, but Sophie had been raised to be a good girl, and it was a good girl she had remained.

Howl hadn't seemed to mind. Though his kisses had deepened over time and his hand on her waist lingered, he hadn't pushed her, or even gave the slightest hint at wishing she thought differently about the rules set up for a courting girl and boy. He had been so patient – seven months, it had been, since the day she returned his heart and set Calcifer free.

_Calcifer – breakfast!_ Her mind yelped. Here she was, daydreaming about the wedding, when she had a whole morning of preparations ahead of her!

She threw a robe over her nightgown, tying it quickly around her as she opened the door to the kitchen. Calcifer immediately flared up at her entrance, more today than usual, the tips of his flame an alert bright orange.

"Good morning, Sophie," he announced, his eyes watching her carefully as she went to fetch the kettle for a morning cup of tea, and a frying pan to fix breakfast for everyone.

"Hello, Calcifer," she said, being sure to flash him a proper smile, despite her thoughts being held elsewhere.

"You look pretty," he said cautiously, his flame lowering shyly.

Sophie chuckled, fetching eggs and bacon from the basket. Most brides had mothers and sisters and aunts to flatter them on their wedding day – not talking fire demons!

"Are you trying to flatter me into serving sliced bread and cheese for breakfast?" she said playfully, raising the pan over the hearth. "Because if you are, it won't work! I don't want anyone sulking today, let alone fainting from hunger at the ceremony."

"I just said you looked _nice_," Calcifer mumbled, lowering his head obediently. Sophie set the pan on the flame, cracking eggs against it and throwing the shells to Calcifer, who munched them happily. Sophie had introduced more sophisticated meals to the castle family since her first days living there, but this particular meal, her first with Howl and Markl, held special meaning for her. Weddings were suitable for nostalgia, anyhow.

"I'll bet," Calcifer said between bites, "That Howl … yummy … put some beauty spells on you last night … mm, yummy … you know how he loves those."

Sophie froze, the pan standing still as she suddenly stopped gently shaking the bacon sizzling within it.

"Last night?" she asked weakly.

"Howl heard you cry out in the night," Calcifer said matter-of-factly, still chewing on the final shell. "He .. mrrum .. he came down to check on you. He said you were dreaming of your wedding vows. Is that true?"

Sophie's face went white, then gradually filled with color, blotching red shades that grew darker and darker, revealing her embarrassment.

"I knew it!" Calcifer yelped, his flame jumping up in his enthusiasm. "I _knew_ it was a nightmare. Well, I don't blame you myself, Sophie. I know Howl is your true love and all of that, but he's a _slavedriver_. It'll be just like when you were an old woman, only of course you'll be married this time, so no one will ask questions. Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, while the fool soaks in his boiling hot bath!"

"It … it wasn't a nightmare," Sophie tried to explain, having heard only half of Calcifer's rant. "I'm not frightened of … of marrying Howl."

Calcifer sunk down his flames suspiciously.

"Well then," he said, perhaps a bit hurt, "Don't come complaining to me when you're on your hands and knees, drying his wet footprints."

Sophie only blushed further, glad, at least, that the conversation had exhausted itself. She composed her mind, trying her best just to clear it for the time being, and looked down into the pan.

The sizzling had died down into crunchy kind of crackle, and Sophie realized in horror that the bacon had blackened, burnt entirely down onto the pan.

"Oh, no," she whimpered, quickly pulling it off the fire as if that would solve the problem. "And that's all the bacon we … oh, damnation!"

Calcifer flared up again at her use of an explicative, raising a fiery eyebrow.

"Breakfast is ruined," Sophie sulked, grabbing a fork and using it to rather desperately scrape the burnt scraps into Calcifer's waiting mouth.

"Mmm," he said in a serious tone, munching at the burnt bacon with a quiet cackle, "Burnt bacon on a wedding day. You see, Sophie? It's a sign."

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Hello readers!

Like most everyone who has written a story here, I saw the movie and was absolutely spellbound … and then I read the book. For that I apologize, because I find myself tempted to put "Michael" instead of "Markl" and so on. I'll do my best to stick to movie canon, as that seems to be what has inspired most people.

If you liked this, please review. It's hard to go on when no one seems to like what you're doing. I thought this might be a breath of fresh air for those looking for HMC fanfiction here – it all seems so tragically fluffy and adorable and G-rated – to have a story with a little human sexuality.

So, more?


	2. In Which Sophie Panics

Sophie was just pouring her sixth circle of pancake batter onto the frying pan when she heard a commotion beginning upstairs. Markl came wandering down the stairs first, yawning adorably in his ankle-length white nightshirt, with Heen wheezing at his heels. The young boy looked sleepily around the kitchen, but when he saw Sophie, he grinned enormously in the way only a child can and sprinted up to her.

"Sophie!" he yelped, burying himself in the folds of her white apron. "You're getting married today! How come you're cooking? Shouldn't you be getting dressed?"

She smiled warmly down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"The wedding isn't for hours, silly," she explained fondly, "And if I didn't cook breakfast for us, who would?"

"I would," said a resonant voice from the top of the stairs, and despite herself, Sophie's cheeks warmed to shade of rosy pink, and she turned her eyes to the pan beneath her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Howl quickly descend the stairs, wickedly handsome even in his simple outfit of slim black pants and billowy white tunic.

"Here's your chance, Sophie," Calcifer whispered in a crackling voice from the hearth. "Tell him you'll stay, but you prefer your freedom, like me. There's no need for a marriage contract!"

"Look at you," Howl announced cheerily, approaching her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders from the back. The effect was that Sophie could no longer move to cook, and rather than stand awkwardly trapped, she was forced to turn around and look into his eyes. They were especially alive today, filled with tenderness and excitement.

"Working on your wedding day?" he whispered in her ear, drawing her away from the hearth. "We'll have none of that, now."

"Cooking isn't work," she stammered, but Howl, still cradling her with one arm, raised a finger at the pan, where the pancake flipped itself effortlessly.

"See?" he said in the same seductive whisper, all the while leading her toward the table. "I can handle this. You rest, and just sit there watching me. You look beautiful."

Sophie blushed further, apprehensive of the way he held her. She knew it was silly to be so affected by a dream – after all, this man was going to be her husband in just a few hours – but couldn't shake the warm shiver his touch sparked in her spine.

Calcifer seemed to resent this sudden change of chef.

"Sophie and I were just discussing the inherent cruelty of contracts," he said lowly, raising his flames high in Sophie's direction.

"A marriage isn't a binding magical contract like ours once was," Howl explained. The calmness of his voice surprised even Sophie, who might have been offended by a friend trying to stop her own wedding. "It's more like … a promise. A promise to be together. It's a symbol of that commitment."

Calcifer burned purple in his suspicion.

"Maybe between bland humans," he said, "But with a Wizard like you, Howl? I'm sure it becomes more complicated."

Howl chuckled, seemingly amused by all this. Sophie couldn't help but smile at his relentless cheer this morning, knowing in her heart that his joy was for her.

"I assure you," he stated firmly, pouring more batter into the pan, "I've done and will do nothing to keep Sophie near me against her will."

"You railroaded her out of cooking," the fire demon pointed out sulkily. "Look at her. She's dejected. She and I were enjoying ourselves, and here you walk in and force her to sit down. A woman ought to be able to do whatever she wants on her wedding day."

Sophie laughed a little at this, hiding her smile behind her hand. Calcifer had learned more about weddings from Sophie than Howl, who regarded the concept as a kind of special adventure of their own more than an established social institution. He'd gotten the idea that all humans paired up eventually, and that on said special day, the female was to be spoiled.

"Sophie is a better cook than you, anyhow," Markl pointed out, scratching Heen's ears absentmindedly.

"Don't be silly, Markl!" Sophie exclaimed, leaning toward him with a frown that seemed doubtful even in her own mind. "Howl is a … sensational cook! You oughtn't underestimate him."

Howl, pan in hand, frowned miserably.

"I'm offended," he said, sighing dramatically. "But I suppose you're right."

"Don't worry, Markl," Calcifer piped up. "Sophie made the batter, and I'll make sure it doesn't burn again."

"Again?" Howl asked, turning to Sophie with a devilish smile. "So it burned once before?"

"Calcifer and I were so engaged talking that I …" she began, trailing off to look down at her restless hands, her cheeks warm. First the dream, and now this – could her wedding day get any more embarrassing?

Howl laughed good-naturedly, flipping the pancake with a dash of his finger.

"You see," he said. "You shouldn't have been cooking in the first place!"

"She can do what she likes!" Calcifer roared, his flames licking the base of the chimney.

"I have a question," Markl piped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and everyone turned to him, a bit surprised at the interruption.

"Yes, Markl?" Howl asked, reaching for more batter.

"Where are you going to land the castle, Calcifer?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. "You've got to land it somewhere, or else the whole thing will fall down when you leave for the ceremony."

"Very near Market Chipping," Sophie answered easily, reaching over to pat Markl's hand. He had seemed very concerned about the idea of them falling from the sky. "My sister Lettie will be meeting us just outside of town. She's made us the cake."

"What sort of cake did you choose?" he asked eagerly.

"Chocolate," Sophie replied, leaning toward him with an excited smile, "With buttercream frosting!"

"Yum!" Michael exclaimed.

"In fact, Calcifer," Howl began calmly from the hearth, "You should start descending now."

Calcifer flared up slightly, a bit offended.

"I know what I'm doing!" he crackled, but almost immediately, Sophie noticed the clouds outside the windows slipping upward.

She settled back in her chair, and within minutes Howl had set a plate of steaming, golden brown cakes in front of her, his head hidden just behind her shoulder.

"Eat, love," he whispered in the silky voice he seemed to reserve for her, and she closed her eyes happily as he planted a warm kiss on her cheek. She knew married life would never be this perfect, and she knew it would be far different from what Calcifer had prophesized (a lifetime of cleaning up after Howl), but either way, she was happy enough to venture into the unknown feeling as if it were the greatest fate she could hope for.

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"Sophie!" Lettie screamed as she opened the door to the rolling hills outside, running across the threshold to throw her arms around her sister's neck. She was finely dressed in a gorgeous pink silk gown with a lovely white hat hiding her golden curls, and all about her was the giddy happiness she had always associated with her sister.

"Ohh," she said warmly, "Ohh Sophie, look at you!"

She pushed back her shoulders, examining the starlight locks Sophie had since combed into neat curtains, one side pushed behind her ear.

"You're positively glowing!" she yelped. Beyond her sister's shoulder, Sophie could see two aproned men coming up the hill, carrying a large white cake on a platter between them.

"Lettie," Sophie said, smiling and trying her very best to be lovely and composed, "Thank you."

"I can't wait to see you in that dress," her sister gushed, hugging her again quickly before pulling her inside the house. "Now, where's that man of yours? Howl? Hooowl!"

"Lettie?" Howl replied with a smile, peering down curiously into the stairwell. "You can bring the cake on inside. Put it on the table. Pancake?"

"Oh, I haven't got time to eat," Lettie replied hurridly, still pulling Sophie along behind her. They were moving now toward Sophie's bedroom, where the dress had seemingly become some sort of magnet. "We've too much to do to prepare the bride. Come along, Sophie!"

And with that, Sophie found herself locked inside her own bedroom, disregarding her apron and nightgown and robe onto the bed and slipping instead between layers of fine silk, her sister smoothing every curve. She couldn't begin to imagine how long they spent crowded around her mirror, perfecting her eyes and lips, pinning her hair into a high bun with loose strands framing her face, tugging at every angle the dress fell on her body.

In the end, however, Sophie was stunning, radiant in the white gown that made her hair seem even more pure silver than usual. Lettie sat fanning herself on the bed, both resting and admiring her sister, finally satisfied.

"Well," she said with a contented sigh. "The wedding is still nearly an hour away. I'll go and see to the guests, of course, and you'll wait here until I come to fetch you. Oh, look at you, Sophie! I never dreamed you would be the first to be married! Our quiet Sophie – and to such an extravagant man! A wizard, even!"

Sophie smiled, not sure how to convey to her sister that Howl was really more vain than extravagant, and how that had changed considerably with the return of his heart.

"I couldn't be happier," she said instead, and meant it.

Lettie smiled for a long moment, but then, as if she had suddenly noticed something in her sister that she had forgotten, her smile slipped away, and her eyes widened slightly with apprehension.

"What is it?" Sophie asked worriedly. "Has my hair come loose?"

"No, no," she assured her quietly. Now Sophie was truly concerned; for Lettie to be serious usually meant a frightening situation, indeed. "I was just thinking what Mother would say, if she could have been here. I mean to ask you …"

Sophie pursed her lips, twirling her bouquet in her hand as she waited.

"I mean to ask if you and Howl have been wanting children?" she asked in a rush, her blue eyes widening as she leaned forward, watching as her sister's face flushed red.

"Well," Sophie stammered, wishing to the gods she wasn't required to look perfect at the moment and she might collapse into a chair, "We … Howl and I … haven't discussed … and we have Markl, already."

"You haven't discussed …?" Lettie asked softly, and she realized with a horrible wave of realization that she was meant to go on.

"We haven't discussed adding to the family," Sophie continued in a way she hoped was confident and poised. "But I imagine that someday, certainly, we might."

Lettie smiled a little distantly, her cheeks pink themselves, but her eyes amused at the businesslike tone her sister's voice had taken on.

"Well," she continued, "I'm sure Howl's taken care of the precautions."

"The precautions?" Sophie stammered quietly, her knees suddenly weak under her.

"Absolutely," Lettie assured her, nodding her head to herself. "Wizards can do all those sorts of things, can't they? I know they can. You're probably under some kind of spell right now, to make sure that tonight you don't … you know."

Sophie suddenly wasn't sure she did know. To make sure she didn't refuse him?

"What?" she asked in an uncontrollable whisper.

"Conceive," Lettie said, her eyes widened in concern for the panic she was now seeing in her sister.

Sophie bit her lip. Suddenly the word seemed the dirtiest in the language, and forgetting that the wind of it might mess her hair, she forgot Lettie for the moment and began pacing the length of her bed.

It was humiliating to think that Howl had been not only thinking of their wedding night, but planning it! She was shocked he hadn't mentioned a thing to her about his ability to control her becoming pregnant. Shouldn't he have asked first?

Sophie was no fool. It was impossible to pretend Howl didn't have certain desires for her, the way he had been pulling her into his embrace, whispering in her ear about how beautiful she was to him. But to imagine him actually planning out a spell .. !

"Sophie?" Lettie asked urgently, standing.

"I'm fine, Lettie," she gasped, taking in deep, slow breaths.

"Are you nervous about the wedding?"

"Oh no, no, Lettie," she let out, wringing her bouquet in her hands. "I love Howl, the wedding is going to be perfect, it's just …"

"A lot of brides get cold feet just before their wedding, dear. It's a big step! Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"

"It's not the wedding I'm worried about!" Sophie exclaimed, her lips and hands trembling. "It's the part afterwards!"

"Do you mean the … oh."

Sophie took in more long, deep breaths, now obsessively patting her hair into place as well. Her manhandled bouquet was now dropping loose petals all around the bedroom, and Lettie had come to her, rubbing her hand soothingly up and down her sister's shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said softly. "If Howl loves you as much as I think he does, I know he'll be very gentle."

Sophie's eyes widened and she blushed deeply, the horror of any other possibility completely overcoming her senses. The shame and fear and anticipation and the incredible wanting all swirled in her stomach like poorly matched foods, and Sophie wondered why it had taken her all this time to fully realize how frightened she was of a life with Howl with more than kisses.

"I hope so," she gasped, dropping her bouquet onto the floor as darkness fell around her.

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Eleven reviews! Oh snap!

I realize this chapter was a little fluffy despite that being what I'm trying to distinguish myself from in this genre, but it's hard to pull much more than that between a couple on their wedding day. The next chapter ought to be better!

So if you want more, review. This isn't a free show, you know.


	3. In Which Sophie Is Wed

Fifteen minutes later, her sister diligently fanning her face, the two girls decided it would be best not to tell Howl about her collapse. Sophie knew he would delay the wedding for hours in worrying over her, and Lettie simply found the idea of delaying the wedding too horrifying for words.

"You need to relax, Sophie," she said soothingly above her. "In a few weeks' time, you'll forget you were ever so nervous about … well, that sort of thing."

Sophie, torn between the seemingly equal possibilities that she was either in for a great deal of pleasure or the crashing down of the moral character she had built up all her life, didn't want to talk about it. She thought about other things – the flowers, the cake, how handsome Howl would look in _clothing_, the weather – anything but _that_ – as Lettie carefully rescued her hair and face.

"You look as wonderful as ever," she declared finally, "If a bit pale."

By then it was nearly a quarter hour to the start of the wedding. Lettie took her gloved hand in her own, patting it soothingly, as if afraid Sophie might faint again while she was gone.

"I'll be back for you soon," she said with a fragile smile. "You just wait here."

As the door shut behind her sister, Sophie sat down carefully on the bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the front of her dress. She was overreacting, she knew. This happened to _every_ bride on their wedding day. It had happened to her grandmother and her mother and would one day happen to Lettie, so why was she so worried?

_And anyway_, she thought despite herself, _if that dream is at all comparable to reality …_

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Lettie came to fetch her in a few minutes' time, as promised. Though at the time she seemed to move through each new moment slowly, as if in a dream, Sophie, thinking back on it, realized that it had all gone rather fast. She was led through the house, startled for a moment at the absence of Calcifer, and then out into the pure open air of the field outside.

Every flower seemed to be in full bloom, spilling over the hills in rivers of color. It was Howl's doing, she knew. As she approached the crest of the first hill, she saw before her the entire wedding party assembled, as well as all of their guests. They were small from a distance, but Sophie could clearly make out Howl, dressed in loose but somehow elegant tunic in shades of white patterned with soft blue.

He was staring straight at her, smiling, from the look of things, and Markl stood looking very prim next to him in his little suit. Sophie saw a pile of birch branches among the few rows of guests, burning a lovely shade of autumn orange.

But that wasn't what Sophie noticed most of all.

Lettie laughed girlishly beside her, squeezing her gently on the arm. Although Sophie wanted to pretend very much that the day was perfect, she couldn't quell the flicker of annoyance that blossomed in her chest.

"That fool," she muttered, sighing shortly and rolling her eyes up toward the soft blue that perfectly matched the shade of her husband-to-be's clothing. Her sister only laughed harder, pulling her toward the white archway so as not to be conspicuous.

"It looks like he spent as much time getting ready as we did," she chuckled. "Are you sure you can keep the girls off him, Sophie? Your marriage will be exhausting."

But the silver-haired girl only narrowed her eyes briefly at her fiancée, who seemed unable to notice from a distance and beamed brilliantly at her. He watched her with so much adoration that Sophie had nearly forgiven him by the time she'd made her way cautiously down the isle, cheeks pink.

At least, she'd forgotten until she saw him up close.

"For the love of God, Howl," she hissed in a whisper as he took her gloved hand in his own, still smiling for all the world. "This is our wedding day. You look like you're off to eat some poor girl's heart again."

"Are you sure I'm not just looking forward to yours?" he teased, raising a playful eyebrow at her as they approached the white arch under which they would take their vows.

"I prefer your natural color," she snapped, rushing. There were only a few steps left to continue this conversation, and she was suddenly worried their whispered bickering might be overheard – though a moment later she realized that anyone watching would think they were sweet nothings.

"I wanted to look the way I did on the day we met," he replied simply, and then they stopped in front of the archway, where the preacher cracked open his book and began his speech of welcome.

"You succeeded," she hissed back, torn between the sweetness of his excuse and the knowledge of being wed to a vain blonde.

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After the ceremony, the guests sat and lay lounging about in the field of flowers, resting on various chairs and blankets salvaged from the castle. Sophie was reclining quite comfortably against Howl's chest, sipping a peach-flavored drink and smiling as he slipped a hand around her waist, pressing it firmly against the warm silk draping her stomach.

"Are you happy?" he whispered, and Sophie replied with sweet, guttural noise that was a combination between a gentle sigh and a kitten's purr. She took another sip of her drink, curling her legs nearer to her body.

"Good," he said. She had long forgiven him for the hair.

In the distance, Sophie noticed Markl sitting grimly on his blanket, Heen collapsed next to him. Lettie was standing over him, talking animatedly and from time to time ruffling his hair, to which the little boy scowled darkly.

"He's going to hate us, Howl," Sophie said, her voice uncharacteristically sulky. "Do you think we made a mistake, sending him away from the castle so we might have it to ourselves for awhile?"

"Oh, he'll be fine," Howl replied easily. "He'll feel differently once he realizes that Lettie works in a cake shop. He'll come back to us bigger than the Witch of the Waste."

Sophie laughed, turning her head into his chest to stifle it from the guests around them, then settling her cheek against his tunic with a giddy sigh. Her cheeks were flushed despite the warm breeze, and she felt outside of herself, numb with a joy she'd never known.

"Howl," she whispered. "Howl, is this really just juice, or did you do something to it?"

"Nothing you don't seem to like," he answered wickedly, to which Sophie helplessly slapped his arm.

"Such trickery," she muttered, but soon forgot her anger upon realizing that her husband's shirt smelled like warm, cinnamon cupcakes.

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"I hate you," Markl muttered darkly, sniffling in the doorway. His suitcase was next to him, and next to that, Heen, who wheezed indifferently, probably glad for the change of scenery.

"Oh Markl," Sophie said, pulling him against her skirts in an embrace to which Markl remained stiff and impassive, "You're going to have so much fun with Lettie. Just think, you can bake cookies every day!"

"I don't want cookies!" he spat, startlingly childish. "I want to live with you and Howl!"

"You do, my love," Sophie said soothingly, kneeling down to look him in the eyes. "This is only for a little while. Just a few weeks. And you're going to visit on Sunday – won't you give poor Lettie a chance?"

Markl looked at her moodily, miserable but defeated.

"Good boy," she said, ruffling his hair gently. "Howl and I will see you soon."

"It isn't fair," Markl muttered to himself, looking up suddenly and giving Calcifer a look of absolute disgust. "Calcifer gets to stay, and he bothers Howl all the time! I'd be good! I'd stay in my room and go outside to play with Heen."

He sniffled again, and Sophie sighed gently, wringing her hands.

"Don't worry, Markl," she said, running out of comforting words. "You'll be home in no time. And in the meantime, you and Lettie can bake together and go all around Market Chipping."

"I hate Market Chipping," he mumbled, but grumpily let himself be embraced before Lettie, smiling warmly, took him by the hand at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Enjoy your honeymoon!" she exclaimed, giving Sophie especially a wry look of amusement. "Don't worry about the little one, here. We'll have lots of fun in the kitchen. Won't we, little Markl?"

"I'm not little," he spat to the floor. Howl and Sophie both stood in the doorway, waving as they made their way down the hill toward the cart Lettie had hired to ride her back into town, their silhouettes black against the falling sunset.

"Well," he said as they disappeared over the hill's crest, hugging her shoulders tightly for a moment, "I'm off to change out of these clothes. I'll be down in a moment, all right?"

"Okay," Sophie answered in a warm, tired sigh, turning to him and smiling obediently as he bent down to kiss her tenderly on her lips.

She followed him as far as the kitchen, then watched as he disappeared up the stairs. She sat down heavily in a chair near the fire, stretching her arms above her head and breathing in deeply, letting all her happiness settle deep within her bones.

"Sophie," Calcifer crackled softly, burning low on his log. "Psst – Sophie!"

Sophie smiled at him, busily unpinning her hair and shaking it out, letting the layers of shimmering silver fall loosely over her shoulders.

"I have a wedding present for you," he declared, his flames shooting up dark and proud.

"Oh, is that so?" Sophie asked playfully, kicking off her white heels. "Do show it to me."

"I believe you'll find this invaluable to married life," he said in a sly whisper, and then Sophie, sensing the scandal inherent in his voice, leaned forward over the hearth, too happy to be wary.

"What?" she whispered, grinning, her chocolate eyes glowing in the firelight.

"As recipient of this gift," he cackled smugly, "You may, at any time, require me to refuse Howl his precious hot water."

Sophie raised a white gloved hand to her lips, laughing in spite of herself.

"Will you run it cold in the middle of a bath?" she asked, glancing back up the stairs worriedly, knowing that Howl would be running down any moment to rejoin himself with her.

"Cold as ice," he assured her, crackling a wicked little laugh.

"So much better than the waffle griddle I'd been hoping for," she smiled, still giggling even as she heard Howl's quick footsteps on the stairs. He descended wearing his favorite everyday outfit, a loose white tunic tucked into slim black pants, and frowned at the sight of his wife, still in her wedding dress, laughing into her hand, Calcifer burning low in the grate with narrowed, malicious eyes glowing like coals.

"And just what is so funny?" he asked, placing a hand on his hip.

"Sophie and I were just planning out your happily ever after, Howl," he crackled nastily, and Sophie, unable to stop herself, snorted through another fit of laughter, her eyes tearing.

"You've had too much to drink, love," he said, walking toward her, all the while giving Calcifer a hard glare.

"What?" he asked, throwing sparks all about his ashes. "I'm not the one who tricked Sophie into those drinks. But look at her, she's so happy. I think she's delirious."

When Howl bent down beside her, Sophie grabbed his arm, leaning toward him clumsily.

"Howl," she whispered urgently, "Howl – Calcifer's been saying naughty things about you!"

She burst into another wave of laughter, then yelped as Howl lifted her off the chair in his arms, smiling a little as she immediately collapsed against him, nuzzling her face into his throat.

"Be good, Calcifer," he said over his shoulder as he climbed the stairs.

"Good night to you, too," he replied, settling into the ambers and watching his former master's retreating back with a mischievous smirk.

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I hope you all enjoyed the wedding. ;

Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, your words have absolutely inspired me to go on! And of course, thank you to Juu, my number one fan and muse, for helping me come up with some juicy ideas for later!

This isn't a free show, darlings. Click the button and pay up!


	4. In Which Sophie Is A Little Tipsy

The next morning, Sophie woke up slowly, startled to be looking up into a ceiling twinkling with Howl's random, moving wizarding objects. It took her a moment to recall why she wasn't wrapped under her heavy quilt, but reality came flooding back to her as she sleepily turned her head and caught sight of her wedding dress slung over a nearby chair.

_Oh … _she thought in a haze, _Oh, Howl's bed …_

She blinked a few more times, her heart suddenly seizing with realization.

_Oh, oh, goodness_, her mind chanted, _Am I naked?_

She pressed her eyes closed, slowly pulling up the blanket covering her chest before opening them again suddenly, ready for the shock of her own skin. Instead she saw layers of white fading into darkness.

_My petticoats_, she thought. _They're still … we couldn't have … could we?_

She sunk back into her pillow, her cheeks burning with the realization that she really had no idea what had or hadn't happened. All this time, she had been so frightened, so nervous and eager – and in the end – she'd forgotten her own wedding night!

Sophie whimpered. The concept of losing her virginity while intoxicated was (though she didn't really believe that had taken place) horrifying, but the idea of subjecting Howl to a night of caring for her in her drunken state when what he probably wanted more than anything was …

She turned to the other side of the bed, blanching to see that there was only a rumpled cocoon of blankets where her husband ought to have been. Sighing miserably and not sure how she could ever make up for her first night as his wife, she gathered her bearings and sat straight up in bed.

She moaned, clutching her forehead. It felt as if a thousand waves of pain had just struck her, all drifting in a bath of nausea. Very gently, she eased herself out of bed, holding on to the headboard for support.

Howl took this moment to open the bedroom door, towel tied neatly around his waist.

"Sophie, you're awake!" he called out cheerfully, shutting the door behind him.

"Howl," she answered miserably, drawing out his name into a moan, "I never want to drink anything ever, ever again."

He frowned, walking toward her with a look of concern. He stopped in front of her, gently pulling her hand away from her forehead.

"It's my fault," he said sadly. "I should have known you couldn't hold your liquor."

Sophie whimpered again despite herself, taking in a long, labored breath.

"My head hurts so much," she complained in a soft, gasping voice. "I feel like it's splitting in two."

"I may be able to help you with that," he answered in a soft voice of his own, bending down and pressing his lips firmly to her forehead. She exhaled, and then, like sunlight pouring through grey clouds, the pain lifted.

"Oh," she gasped, meeting his eyes with an astonished look.

"Just one perk of marrying a wizard," he said with a grin, pulling her toward him with both his hands and kissing her warmly on the lips. Sophie melted into it, parting her lips softly even as she remembered, the pain now gone, what she had done.

Howl had pulled away only a fraction of a second, and before he could speak another word she flung her arms around his neck, burying her face into the slope of his shoulder, tearing burning at her eyes.

"Howl," she began, lips trembling. "I'm so sorry. I really didn't mean to be so … absent last night. I know that you … and I … and … you know! I know we can't have back our wedding night, but please forgive me."

If Sophie hadn't been so busy hiding her face, she might have seen Howl's eyes widen in surprise, even shock. Very gently, he took a step backward, guiding Sophie away from his chest and holding her steadily in front of him. In fact, he studied her rather as if asserting that she wasn't still under the influence after all.

"What are you talking about, Sophie?" he asked as gently as he could, careful not to upset her further. "You have nothing to be sorry over. I told you, it's my fault."

Frowning still deeper, he wiped a tear away from her eye as color flooded her face.

"Can you at least tell me what happened last night?" she asked shyly, ashamed to confess her next few words. "I don't really remember what happened at all."

"Of course," Howl said, not withdrawing his hand, but rather using it to gently push aside strands of silver that had fallen over her eyes. "I came upon you and Calcifer finishing some kind of joke, and then I carried you upstairs, took off your dress, and put you to bed."

"And that's all?" she asked quietly, almost whispering the question in her embarrassment.

"I kissed you good night," he added, after looking thoughtful for a long moment or two.

"Oh," she said, swallowing hard and trying desperately to find her composure. "So then, you really aren't disappointed?"

"I could never be disappointed in you," he said assuredly, smiling and using a finger to tilt up her chin, forcing her tearful eyes to meet his own. "Don't look so sad. You know what we can do? We can pretend that every night is our wedding night."

Sophie adverted her eyes shyly, blushing further, but couldn't resist a tiny smile.

"That's my girl," Howl said with a grin before leaning in to kiss her again.

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"Calcifer!" Howl shouted as he bounded down the stairs, Sophie padding quietly in his wake, "Fire up, my friend! It's time for our first breakfast as husband and wife!"

The fire demon crackled sleepily, reaching for another log to replace the one that had burned low in the night.

"Only if Sophie cooks," he declared, flaring toward her where she stood awkwardly, still in her petticoats.

"Sorry," Howl announced with equal stubbornness. "Sophie is our Queen today. She'll do no cooking or cleaning or anything of the sort. I've resolved to do everything for her."

"Don't be ridiculous, Howl!" Sophie protested meekly from her corner, but Calcifer beat out her voice, rising high in the hearth with his flames flickering purple-green.

"Sophie talks to me while she cooks," he said maliciously, "And you, Howl? What do you do? You ignore me until it's time for, 'Oh, by the way old friend, can you use your magic to warm my third bath of the day?' All that time I spent working for you has ruined the respect you have for me!"

"He does have a point," Sophie added, pulling up a chair at the table.

"Oh, Calcifer," Howl said with his heart-melting smile, "You know you're appreciated here."

"I still won't cook for you," he hissed stubbornly. "You'll have to serve your Queen cold bread and jam."

Howl crossed his arms, suddenly angry. He stared daggers at the demon, who only narrowed his eyes in return, lowering his flames as if ready to explode at any moment.

"Fine," he said, conceding the battle and smiling once again, though it was a bit twisted by the victory it meant over Calcifer. "I don't need you. I'll just fly down to Market Chipping and buy some fresh pastries for Sophie! How does that sound?"

"I'll make her an omelet before you can pull out your coins," Calcifer spat back, raising his flames high and proud.

"You won't dare," Howl said with a cold look, and then, turning round, "Sophie, love. I'll be back in a moment. You like strawberries, don't you?"

She nodded, feeling trapped between the two but smiling all the same out of faint amusement. Calcifer was just the same as always, only now, free to run off at any moment, he was almost unbearably cocky.

Howl kissed her quickly on the cheek before disappearing out the door, after which Sophie sighed, almost relieved at his absence. Even though he had said all those comforting things to her, she still felt as though she had failed him.

She sat down heavily in her favorite chair near the fire, eyes downcast.

"I knew it," Calcifer exclaimed, flaring up in his excitement. "You're having second thoughts already!"

"Don't be daft, Calcifer," she scolded, smiling faintly at his vain attempts to tempt her with the freedom he now so cherished.

The fire demon settled down, but looked her over intently, his fiery mouth twisting downward.

"You seem unhappy," he said simply, appearing suddenly dim.

Sophie laughed, covering her face with her hands and laughing out her shame, dangerously on the verge of tears once again. No matter what Howl said, she had tainted the memory of their first night together horribly.

"I was so tipsy last night," she muttered regretfully. "Poor Howl must have been awfully put out."

"Poor Howl nothing," the fire demon exclaimed passionately. "It's his obligation to care for you, now! And anyhow, I liked you tipsy. You're not like Howl, crashing into walls. You laughed at all of my jokes. I'd never felt such companionship."

Sophie couldn't help smiling a bit at this, though the burden on her heart was still heavy.

"I have my own obligations to Howl," she said, feeling stronger now, if a bit mournful. "It's difficult to explain, Calcifer, but those drinks stopped me from fulfilling them."

"If you mean cleaning up after Howl," he crackled in annoyance, "I'd have had the castle spit him out over the Waste rather than see you dust in your pretty dress."

She chuckled, settling back in her chair to wait for Howl.

She took in a deep breath, still trying to settle herself. She really wished that she could remember what had honestly happened last night. Though she didn't think that Howl had lied to her, his story made her seem as if she had been a rag doll, and if she had been laughing and going on as Calcifer had implied …

She shook her head, releasing the thought from her mind. Sometimes, it was just best to let these things go.

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_What Sophie Can't Recall_

Sophie blinked sleepily as Howl laid her down gently on the bed, her hair pooling around her face on the pillow. He grinned at her wickedly as he stood back, hands on his hips.

"I'm going to change now," he said, pulling his teardrop blue gem over his head. "Close your eyes, and no peeking."

Sophie giggled, bringing a white-gloved hand to her flushed face and obediently pressing her eyes closed, unable to stop smiling as she heard Howl rummaging through what she thought must be his chest of clothes.

She waited a moment, then slowly half-opened one eye, just in time to watch her husband pulling his white tunic over his head, revealing a back of perfect, milky skin.

"You forget I'm a wizard," he said, throwing his shirt aside and shaking out what looked simply like a much longer version of it. "You're cheating."

"I'm doing no such thing," she laughed, but frowned to see that his nightshirt fell to his ankles, and the removal of his black pants was as such uneventful.

Sophie smiled, laughing at a little as he approached her.

"Your nightshirt is almost the same as my nightgown," she grinned as Howl sat down next to her on the bed, taking her hand lovingly in his own. "All it needs is lace."

"How insightful of you to notice," he chuckled. "I never knew you were such a lush."

"Don't tease me," she pouted, and then suddenly remembering, propped herself up on her elbows, trying to pull her way out of bed. "I can't … sleep in my wedding dress. It'll be all wrinkled and ruined in the morning!"

She tried to hold herself up on her hands, then yelped as the sheets slid under one, sending her toward the floor. Howl caught her deftly, holding her steadily by the shoulders.

"You shouldn't try to walk on your own," he scolded gently. "Here. I'll help you."

He lifted her out of bed, standing her carefully by the side of it. When he was satisfied that she had found her balance, he placed himself behind her. Sophie could hear the rustle of silk as he untied her bow, then began on each tiny button.

"It took Lettie and I …" she began, moaning tiredly a little though the middle of her sentence, "Three hours … to get me into this dress … and now you're undoing it all in three minutes!"

Howl merely laughed quietly behind her, making slow progress down to her waist, occasionally commanding her to hold still. Finally, though, he undid the final button, letting the dress fall to the floor.

Sophie stepped out of it gratefully, then nearly leapt onto the bed, throwing herself into it so heavily that she bounced as she sat. She watched Howl carefully lift the dress from the floor, setting it on a nearby chair.

"Finally," Sophie said with a long, contented sigh. "It was so tight!"

"I get the feeling," Howl said as he made his way to the other side of the bed, his wife's head turning around to watch as he went, "That you're telling me things you normally wouldn't if you hadn't had so much to drink."

"Mmm," Sophie answered, pulling her legs up into the bed and slipping them under the covers, "That could be true."

"Should now be the time I ask for all your secrets?" he asked, climbing into bed and leaning dangerously close to her, his eyes glittering wickedly with all his mischievous intentions.

"You're my husband," she replied lazily, setting back into the pillows and rolling pleasantly onto her side. "I have no secrets from you!"

"You must have some secrets," Howl urged, rolling toward her as well, his face so close to her own that she might have kissed him at any moment with the smallest of efforts.

"I'm afraid my life was very boring before I met you," she answered, her eyelids half-closed. She was suddenly hardly aware of what he was saying, and more absorbed by the way his lips moved so fluidly.

"One secret," he insisted, and Sophie smiled a little wicked smile of her own as he, as if in response to her thoughts, quickly licked his bottom lip.

"I look abhor – abhorrent in pink," she mumbled.

"That's not a secret," Howl grinned. "That's a fact."

"Watch your tongue!" she yelped, narrowing her eyes at him. "You're my husband. You should think I look good in every color!"

"I am your husband," Howl repeated, tilting his head closer to her own and speaking in a voice that was unmistakably seductive. "Isn't it nice?"

"Being married to you?" she questioned, frowning a little in her confusion.

"Yes," he said simply, his smile deepening.

"We've only been married for a few hours," she said, raising an eyebrow and smiling secretly. "Give me at least a day."

Howl laughed, and then, as if it had been his intention all along, closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together in a firm, delicious kiss. Sophie closed her eyes, losing herself in it immediately, tilting her head to make it longer.

He pulled away, kissing her cheek, and then her forehead, and then her nose.

"Good night, love," he said, settling back into his pillow and pulling Sophie gently toward his chest. She happily obliged, nestling her body into the curve of his arm and sighing contently at the sound of his heartbeat.

For a time she drifted happily, lost between the dreamy world of sleep and the steady beating of Howl's heart. She was warm and tired and content, and as such, it look her some time to remember that it was her wedding night, and that something was amiss.

She opened her eyes sleepily, looking up at the shadow of her husband's face. He was breathing shallowly, as if he might already be asleep. Gently, moved by a force she couldn't quite explain, Sophie carefully disentangled herself from Howl's arm, sitting up to look down at him.

She loved Howl when he was asleep. Awake, he was wickedly handsome, confident and charming, sometimes frighteningly so, and for her, tender and teasing. But asleep, he was completely unaware, as pure and gentle as a child.

With a loud thump she was sure Calcifer would hear downstairs, Sophie swung herself over Howl, straddling him between her legs. He woke up with a start, looking first up at his wife, shocked, and then down at the petticoats pooling over his chest.

"Sophie?" he asked frantically. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't care if I'm a little tipsy, Howl," she mumbled, clumsily, though with a surprising amount of conviction. "It's okay. I don't want you to be sad."

"Sad?" Howl repeated, staring up at her as if she had gone insane. "What are you talking about? I'm not sad at all."

Sophie reached down, playing with his hair for a moment, then wrapped her hand firmly around the back of his neck. Eyes half closed, she bent down and kissed him with as much passion as she could summon in her current state. When she pulled away, Howl was still looking up at her in disbelief, though he seemed to have been shocked into silence.

"I know I'm shy, Howl," she mumbled loudly again. "But I'm not scared. Not really."

He stared up at her, hopelessly confused. He simply blinked for a long moment, and then, as if resolving not to ask, heaved himself up on his elbows, gently pushing Sophie off of him and guiding her by her shoulders back to her original position.

"You should rest, Sophie," he said, meaning it to be sweet, but sounding a little desperate.

As he pulled her back under his arm (manhandled her, she thought resentfully) Sophie stared out into the darkness. Her mind seemed to have gone completely blank, and she lay trying to grasp exactly why she felt such a horrible gnawing in her heart, eating away at the pleasure she had felt just moments before, nestled in her lover's embrace.

She sighed in a quiet breath, pursing her lips. Though her mind never grasped the word, she drifted to sleep with rejection riddling her dreams, shredding her peaceful slumber into tangled threads.

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Sexy, but sad. Dark as it is, I rather like the combination.

Please review, if you want more.


	5. In Which Sophie Is Breathless

Sophie smiled faintly as the door flung open, adverting her eyes despite herself, still embarrassed at the ways in which she was being spoiled. It was a warm emotion, however, one that swelled in her breast, joy that she repressed in her modesty.

Howl rushed forward, dumping a pink and white striped box proudly on the table before her. She noticed he was panting, his cheeks flushed, and her smile widened.

"Back so soon!" she exclaimed shyly, standing to open it. She untied the string crossed over it, and opened the box to reveal no less than six steaming, golden pastries striped with icing. She rolled her eyes, pulling one out and handing it to her husband.

"We can't possibly eat this much," she said under her breath, the hint of scolding almost smothered by the cheerfulness in her voice.

Howl shrugged, biting deep into his pastry. Sophie watched, distracted, as he licked a smear of red filling from the corner of his mouth, holding her own still in her hands.

"I always get really hungry after I drink," he answered offhandedly, taking another bite.

Sophie's eyes widened, and she blushed deeply, taking her time as she sat down in her chair, smoothing her skirts under her, before taking a ginger bite of her breakfast.

_I wish we could just forget about that_, her mind whispered desperately, and she suddenly felt so overwhelmed with shame and revulsion that she became rigid, chewing the warm strawberries slowly, unable to taste their sweetness.

Howl seemed not to notice any of this, and having already pushed away his half-eaten pastry, leaned back in his chair and watched her with a smile.

"I've been thinking about what we should do for our honeymoon," he announced, and Sophie swallowed hurriedly, nodding, her eyes widening in dazed surprise.

"I thought we would just spend time together," she spoke, horrified at this new possibility. She was comfortable, warm and safe, in the castle, but venturing out with Howl for a honeymoon adventure seemed more than she could handle, especially considering the mysterious emotions that had been burdening her lately.

"We will," Howl assured her, his smile stretching to a length Sophie found a little frightening. "But we can't just sit around here! We need to do something _fun_."

Sophie took this moment to look desperately at Calcifer, as if begging him to intervene. He flared up, still annoyed with Howl for their morning bicker; and, shimmering orange, interrupted.

"And what kind of fun would that be?" he hissed. "Do you need Sophie to wash some clothes? Dust? Iron? Clean my chimney?"

Howl looked at him sideways from his position in the chair, barely moving his head, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. Sophie couldn't help but smile secretly at this; this particular expression on him, reserved mostly for Calcifer, was so unconvincing, it was ridiculous.

"I appreciate Sophie for far more than her cleaning abilities," he stated darkly.

"You adore her hair," Calcifer crackled, narrowing his glowing-coal eyes in much the same way, rolling them in tumbling flames. "Yes, yes, we know."

"There's much more to Sophie than that!" he exclaimed, turning his head now to face him, his blue hair falling around his eyes with the fast movement.

"Oh, really," the fire demon hissed. "And what would those qualities be?"

"She's very brave," Howl announced passionately. "And sensible, and gentle."

"How sad," he answered, his flames flickering mockingly. "That's your best tribute?"

"And smart," he added, his narrowed blue eyes smoldering cobalt now.

"Absolutely," Calcifer cackled, raising a flaming eyebrow. "And therein lies the mystery of how you tricked her into marrying _you_!"

"I was _going_ to give you a leftover pastry," Howl nearly shouted, "But I've decided otherwise! And don't be surprised if your wood is a little damp tonight!"

Sophie coughed loudly, standing. The rustle of her skirts made the two both stop, turning to her with almost compulsive attention.

"So, then," she asked, "What was it you were saying, Howl? About our honeymoon?"

Her husband smiled almost wickedly, turning triumphantly to Calcifer and giving him a quick dirty look before returning his full attention to his wife, approaching her with excitement in his eyes.

"Yes," he said, taking her hand and squeezing it in his own. "I have our day all planned. I wanted us to do something you've never tried, Sophie – something we could do together, and have fun doing!"

"Here it comes," the fire demon called sarcastically from the grate.

"Oh," said Howl mischievously, "And you're welcome to join us, Calcifer, my friend."

"What is it we're doing?" Sophie asked softly, anxiety and curiosity stirring in her mind.

"Sailing," he smiled widely, ignoring the string of improper language suddenly flowing from the hearth.

"Sailing! Sailing on the _water_?" the demon was shrieking in disgust. "Howl, you selfish – you mean – in the _ocean_! You planned this just to get rid of me, didn't you?"

Sophie sent him a sympathetic smile, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"I'll tell you all about it tonight, Calcifer," she assured him, pathetic as it sounded.

He only swore in a puff of ash as Howl fetched her hat, handing it to her with a smile that made her heart melt inside her chest. She felt meek, frightened, even, of this idea, but greatly outweighing her anxiety was her want to be swept up in it, pulled along by Howl with his every step.

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As it turned out, Howl had rented a small sailboat for the day and, to complete his plan, had assembled a large lunch he had packed away in a picnic basket. He stood holding it proudly as Sophie looked over the docked boat, running her hands along its smooth, white sides.

"I can almost say it's cute," she said, turning to smile at Howl, who swung himself over into the boat, and, having quickly stowed the basket, reached his hand across the divide to his wife. She took it gratefully, jumping onto the boat with a click of her boots against the polished wood.

He drew her in close, their noses nearly brushing each other's own before he closed his eyes and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. She smiled again, her cheeks flushed, her hair flowing out from beneath her hat in the warm sea air, and didn't stop until Howl had directed her to the center of the small deck, bidding her to sit down and relax.

She did, smoothing out her skirts before her and watching as Howl untied the rope linking the sailboat to the dock, then took the wheel. He waved his hand briefly in the air, and suddenly, a huge gust of wind swept over them, dragging them out to sea as he calmly turned the wheel this way and that.

Sophie laughed, holding her hat to her head. Leave it to Howl to use his magic even for something as trivial as this! She watched, leaning back comfortably on the dock, as the village of Porthaven disappeared behind them, becoming only a small gathering of colored buildings and tiny, swaying ships on the shoreline; and then turned her attention to the white, billowy clouds, the lapping blue waters, and most of all, Howl.

He was wickedly attractive in the wind, the warm sea air billowing out his loose tunic wildly and playing through his hair so that when he turned back to give her a smile so brilliant and confident and pure she could hardly believe it human, she felt it to be a fantasy made only for her. The scene was so alluring, in fact, that when he finally stopped the boat in the middle of the sea and returned to her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and enveloped him in a firm, lasting hug that surprised even her.

With her cheek pressed into his neck, Sophie could hear his laughter, and she smiled as she pulled away, watching him fetch the basket and spread out the food before her. She felt incredibly at peace as she nestled close to him for their lunch, unable to recall the shame and sadness that had lingered in the castle.

Sophie was just pushing aside a half-eaten piece of pie when Howl stretched, then turned to her with a mischievous smile.

"So," he began eagerly, "What would you like to do _now_?"

Sophie blinked, dumbstruck.

"What's there to do in the middle of the ocean?" she asked meekly, confusion and anxiety fused in her voice.

Howl's smile only brightened, and he reached out, taking the brim of her hand in his hand and pulling it off her head, freeing her long waves of silver hair to wave wildly in the wind.

"We can go swimming," he whispered to her, jumping up.

Sophie had opened her mouth and was about to protest this idea, but was silenced as she watched him fluidly pull his tunic over his head. His lithe body was almost white in the sunlight, and her breathe caught in her throat, obliterating all rational thought.

_This fantasy just keeps getting better and better_, she thought to herself, dazed.

Howl kicked off his shoes, then knelt down in front of her, playfully undoing the button that held her dress together at her throat.

"Go on," he said in a low, secretive voice, though Sophie knew they were the only persons on the sea for some distance. "Take off your dress."

She gasped softly, her breath stilled again, though this time, more than rationality left her – her mind was wiped clean of any thought whatsoever, and even though she felt dizzy enough to faint, she felt alongside it a growing eagerness she was not consciously aware of, one that pushed her forward from inside despite her hesitation.

She searched for words, and when all that came from her lips was another shuttering gasp, Howl reached out, sliding her foot forward. She swallowed hard, trying to relax as she watched him begin to remove her boot, button by button, making slow progress down to her ankle.

She was breathing hard by the time he slid it off her foot, and without a single thought, drawn by a force she could neither explain nor resist, she reached her hand to her neck, releasing the second button of her dress.

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A cliffhanger? Maybe, but I just couldn't resist.

You know what to do, loves.


	6. In Which Sophie Is Trembling

Sophie was still struggling for breath even as she watched him gracefully slide her second boot from her foot, setting it aside upright, carefully, on the deck. She couldn't turn away, could hardly blink, as he gently pulled down her stocking – she was at a loss for words, frightened and filled with wonder.

She was used to Howl expressing his love for her in gestures, actions, but usually they came with a cheerful rush of words, a dazzling smile. This was one of the few times she could remember that he had touched her without a verbal explanation, and she felt uneasy looking down on him, his expression obscured by his long, raven hair. What was he thinking? Was he amused, or serious? Passionate, or calm?

She was frightened that she did not know.

He removed her second stocking, placing it carefully inside its boot, and then raised his eyes to her. She looked down into a smile so mysterious, she shivered; his eyes were calm but secretive, as if cunningly hiding some pleasant surprise.

She smiled back shakily, drawing her bare legs back into her skirts. The afternoon was fading away, and in response, the wind had grown cooler. The polished wood of the deck felt cold under her feet, her exposed skin white.

But what Sophie felt most at the moment was not the chill of the air. She couldn't stop running her eyes over Howl, realizing again and again, as if she had been wrong in first noticing it, that he wasn't wearing a shirt. She scanned every curve of pale skin, drawing it in hungrily, her heart quickening. She had seen him in various states of undress before, of course – as he emerged from a bath, and that dreadful episode with the green slime, when she'd carried him up the stairs – but never looked at him knowing that his clothes were not coming back on anytime soon. There were precious few times she'd touched his bare skin, and now, her heart raced – they had never done something like this before.

Howl reached his hand into her loosened collar, curving it around her throat and pulling her forward into a tender kiss. The warmth of his lips was deliciously hot in the cool air, and she shivered as he pulled away.

He noticed, rubbing her shoulder roughly to warm it.

"The water will be warmer," he said in a low voice, as if he were sighing it under his breath. "The sun's been beating on it all day."

She nodded, resisting the urge to kiss him again. He smiled that teasing smile, and stood briefly to move behind her, where he settled himself gently, and with purpose. Sophie watched him from the corner of her eye, just able to make out the outside strands of his raven hair flowing in the wind. She was confused for a moment, and then, when she felt his finger brush the back of her neck, realized what he was doing: releasing the buttons on the back of her dress.

She swallowed hard, trying to become as calm as he seemed to be. Button by button, she felt her dress loosen around her shoulders, felt the cool air creep in to chill her skin, and as each gust of wind passed, felt Howl's moist breath against the back of her neck, warm as the kiss.

Finally, he was finished, and he slid his hands over her shoulders, then down her arms, pulling the dress with them. Sophie pressed her eyes closed as it settled around her waist, shivering, then gasped as he embraced her from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"Are you cold?" he whispered into her ear, and she sighed, trembling despite herself, giving in and leaning her full weight back against him. She was suddenly very conscious of her chest heaving with her every breath, her breasts straining against her corset.

"Yes," she said, in a gasp of breath; and Howl hugged her tighter, pressing his warm lips to her cheek.

"We should get into the water, then," he said, again in that strange, calm voice. She made an odd noise in her throat, something like a strangled whimper, and in a moment he had stood, and was in front of her, offering her his hand.

She stood shakily, her feet unsteady on the deck, and followed as he pulled her toward the side of the boat. She looked down into the rich green-blue waters lapping against it, her eyes widening at the depths they seemed to conceal.

"Are you sure this is safe?" she asked quietly, tightening her grip on his hand. "You can swim, can't you?"

"I can fly," Howl said, a hint of laughter in his voice. She turned to him, surprised for a moment, so caught up was she in her fear; and then she smiled herself, relief flooding her. It was so good to see him laugh, as they always had.

"Silly me," she whispered, adverting her eyes shyly. She still eyed the water precariously, her smile fading as it became inevitable, what they were about to do.

"I'll count to three," Howl was saying, and she winced, focusing for the moment again on how handsome he was with his windswept hair, his confident expression and warm, eager eyes. "And then we'll jump together."

"Okay," she stammered, tightening her hold on his hand.

"One …"

Sophie shivered, her bare shoulders trembling. She hoped the water really was warm, as Howl had promised.

"Two …"

She was wearing white! White petticoats! What would Howl see when she got out of the water? She prayed he had a spell to dry her instantly. Or maybe he did, but wouldn't! But he wouldn't be such a pervert, would he?

"Three!"

She yelped, jumping instinctively as Howl's hand pulled her down toward the water. She closed her eyes tightly as it splashed around her, flooding her body in cool wetness, then gasped as she thrust her head up above it, sucking in air.

When she opened them, she saw Howl floating near her, his raven hair plastered black to his cheeks, his eyes flashing with excitement. He was laughing, and the deep, melodious sound reached her ears on the wind as if it had echoed from far-off, a great bell sounding.

She moved her legs tentatively, pushing them through her heavy, soaked petticoats. Her face and hair felt chilled, the cool wind blowing against the wetness to make it almost icy, but Howl had been right; the water was relatively warm, like a bath that had been sitting far too long.

"Sophie!" Howl yelled, splashing toward her so that he was scarcely a few feet away. "Sophie, are you all right?"

"It's not as cold as I thought," she replied, smiling a little despite herself. The water dripping down his face, his soaked, disheveled hair; altogether it was an amusing look for someone so vain.

But Howl was grinning, unaware of his looks.

"Oh," he said, his smile dazzling as the sun against the shifting waters, "That's too bad."

"And why is that?" Sophie asked, incredulous, her smile slipping away. "You wanted me to be frozen? Were you hoping I'd catch cold?"

"No," he said, still smiling mischievously. "But I was hoping you'd say you were cold, so that I could offer to make you warm again."

Her mouth fell open, and she shut it with pursed lips, color flooding her face. With widened eyes, she watched him close the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his body.

She instinctively, albeit hesitantly, wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head gently against his shoulder. She was finding it hard to breath again, and she gasped against the tightness of her corset, wishing once again that she could be calm, composed, to match her husband.

Howl's wet hair was silky against her lips, and she sighed, trembling as her emotions gradually cleared. The wind about them was cold, so cold, but his skin was warm, and she pressed her cheek against the curve of his neck, reveling in it.

Sophie could not remember having ever been this close to him. Her petticoats were heavy, soaked, but clung to her body almost as if they were a second skin, so that when she leaned into his bare chest, she could imagine, in the hazy back of her mind, that she wasn't wearing anything at all. In the water, they were weightless, and she reveled at the lack of gravity weighing them down. It reminded her of the day she had met Howl, when he had held her hands as they walked together across the sky, only now, they were no longer strangers, and almost perfectly still. The stillness made it obvious to her how effortlessly she could brush their ankles together, wrap her thighs around his waist.

She sighed gently, lusciously content. She wanted to stay in their embrace forever, only she wanted to be closer, and closer, and closer still, so that there would be nothing separating them. She wanted them to be seamless, and she pulled herself up against him, her chest pressed into his, her head cradled into his shoulder; only her legs drifted free.

Howl made a soft sigh in response, holding her firmly against him.

"I'm afraid," he said in a whisper, "That this isn't what I would call fun."

"This is better than fun," she mumbled in response. "This is perfect. I've never felt more … at peace. Like nothing could matter more than preserving this feeling; like nothing could disturb it."

She could feel him breathing against her, and her eyes fluttered open. All about them, the sea was calm, gently swaying them, as if rocking them to sleep. The sun was near to setting, illuminating the sky in pale shades of lavender and rose that reflected beautifully off the water, iridescent like the most vibrant pearl.

Compulsively, she kissed his neck, her lips pressing against a mix of silky wet hair and warm, salty skin.

"Howl," she sighed again, "I love you … so much. I wish we could never go back."

She pulled slightly away from him, only so that her head settled under his chin. He kissed her forehead warmly, letting her rest against him.

"We have the rest of our lives to come back," he said in a low, gentle voice, and then, "I love you as well."

Sophie made a soft, guttural sound in her throat, a whimper crossed with a tired sigh. She really didn't want it to stop, not really, but there was something inside her, something compelling and unbidden, that whispered to her that an embrace like this could be only the beginning.

"Howl," she said, not realizing that she was speaking her thoughts, so blurred had the line between perfection and reality become, "It's so beautiful out here. It's gorgeous – like the field of flowers, only weightless, and soft."

"Yes," he said, and Sophie pulled her head away so that she could look at him, watching him smile gently down at her, his eyes warm, soft, ready to indulge her in any words that might give her happiness.

"I want you to make love to me," she said in a whisper, and then, as if realizing the horror of what she had said, quickly nestled her face again against his shoulder.

She held her breath, waiting for his answer, and then froze, her body suddenly rigid as she heard him begin to laugh.

"Sophie," he said, almost exasperatingly, teasingly, as if she had just said the silliest thing in the world. "Make love? You know that I love you already. I just told you so."

Sophie held her eyes open wide, though she could see nothing but the blur of his wet hair, and her lips trembled uncontrollably. A coldness settled suddenly through her entire body, making it feel heavy, rigid, immovable– and she shivered terribly.

"I said," she whispered desperately. "I said that I want you to … _make_ love to me … not … love me … you know … to please …"

But she was trembling so hard she couldn't speak, and Howl tightened his hold on her, rubbing her back in slow, steady circles.

"You're freezing," he said, concerned. "We should go back."

She nodded fiercely, desperate to escape the situation she had so unwittingly created. In a few moment's time Howl was pulling her back aboard the boat, and she was crouched on the deck once again, a dry towel wrapped around her shoulders like an old woman's shawl. He had explained, begging her forgiveness, that he had forgotten the drying powder at the castle.

Sophie, however, was glad that her hair remained soaking wet. The water that dripped from it was a perfect mask, hiding the tears that slid down her face as she watched Howl guide them back into the harbor.

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Her hair was nearly dry as she stepped over the threshold of the castle door, grateful for the warm, dry heat that Calcifer had provided to fill the room. He perked up upon hearing them enter, his flames soaring orange around him.

"Hey," he said, frowning worriedly. "Sophie – you're all wet!"

"I'm fine, Calcifer," she mumbled, letting Howl guide her to her favorite chair near to him. He bent down to kiss her cheek, and she held herself still as a statue, lips parted, staring out in front of her as if she couldn't feel a thing.

"I'm going upstairs to change," he said in a low, caring voice. "And then I'll come down to fix us some supper. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied numbly, drawing the shawl protectively around her. She sniffled, swallowing hard, feeling dull and achy from the cold, and the secret tears.

"You're going to be sick," the fire demon was saying, flickering wildly. "Swimming in the ocean! That idiot!"

"No," she said, her voice filled with precious little emotion. "It was … fun."

"If it was so fun, why are you sniffling, and so pale?" Calcifer asked in protest, his crackling voice accusatory. "I may not be human, but I can tell when they're weakened. You probably even have a fever! What was he thinking! What next, a sky dive from the castle? He's going to kill you!"

Sophie smiled faintly, and despite how weak she was feeling, his familiar bickering warmed her heart in some odd way.

"Don't worry about me," she said in a soft voice. "I'm just a little tired, is all."

"Then you should rest," Calcifer replied passionately. "I'll make sure he cooks a good meal for you first, though. Something warm and filling – if only it wasn't for the both of you. I'd be sure to burn his half."

She chuckled gently, sighing a little as she settled back in her chair. She could hear Howl distantly on the stairwell, and she braced herself for the smile she would need to display, the enthusiasm, despite how listless she felt. Throughout her life, Sophie had experienced the full range of emotions – from devastation to unrestrained joy – but never before had she felt such an overwhelming emptiness. It was as though she was so weak, the only comfort she could give herself was feeling nothing at all.

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Well, I may need to raise the rating for the next chapter. We'll see – but did you like it? If you did, you should please tell me. I'm not awake at two in the morning only to make myself happy! If you're a little grateful – leave a little message for me. I read them over sometimes four or five times between chapters, to inspire myself. Thank you!


	7. In Which Sophie Makes Plans

Sophie felt a hand gently take her own, and turned her head, without fear, to look on her companion. Her face lit up with a sweet, full smile: it was Howl, his raven hair flowing loosely in the warm, spring air, and he was smiling at her in return, a perfect smile marked only by the purest joy.

All around them spread the fields of flowers whose beauty had long grown familiar to her, all in full bloom, their scents mingling together and drifting sweetly on the breeze, warm and intoxicating. The lakes beyond reflected the white gold sunshine, and snow white clouds floated lazily above them.

She sighed, closing her eyes to feel the sunlight warm her skin, the wind kiss her face with its promise of a perfect twilight. When she opened them, she saw that Howl was in front of her now, and had taken both of her hands in his own.

"Sophie," he said with his dazzling smile, and when she averted her eyes with a shy smile in return, she saw that she was wearing her wedding dress, the creamy silk flowing elegantly in the wind, luminous in the sunlight, her slippers stark against the green grass.

"Oh, Howl," she found herself whispering, her voice strangely distantly, "How wonderful! Everything is perfect! Everything is so perfect …"

"It should be," he replied, squeezing her white-gloved hands. "I made it this way for you. I love you, Sophie. I would do anything to make you happy."

"Anything?" she asked, looking up into his gentle blue eyes. His smile had not changed, and it was suddenly eerie, but at the same time, flawlessly convincing. She felt her cheeks become rapidly warm, and waited.

"Absolutely," he said, clutching at her hands, tightening his grip. "And I know exactly what you want."

Her lips fell open in a silent exclamation, and she took a step back, her slipper crushing a perfect bluebell that had lay underfoot. The blue eyes that had once been so tender were now dark cobalt, entrancing, frightening. He was holding her by both wrists, and she whimpered helplessly, unable to escape.

"You're not my husband!" she cried in a strangled gasp, the wind fluttering her dress suddenly cold, his white skin ghostly and his black hair flowing around his face as if by a supernatural force.

"You're right," he said, darting his face close to her. She stumbled in her fright, but was paralyzed by his eyes; and looking at his face, she saw that he was still as beautiful as her husband, his features as stunning. The only difference seemed to be the darkness in his eyes, the unnerving smirk on his face. "I am Howl's evil twin brother!"

She gasped, the color draining from her face.

"That's impossible!" she protested, still struggling wildly to free her wrists – but the more she fought, the harder his grip became, until she thought she would buckle from the pain.

"Not at all," he whispered, the frightening smirk widening slightly at the corners. "And I, unlike my alternate self, understand perfectly what you need from me. It isn't flowers, is it, Sophie? It isn't kisses, is it, my love?"

She swallowed hard, afraid to answer, but after only a few long moments of being pierced by his navy eyes, she found herself relenting.

"I love Howl as he is," she stammered, trying her best to be fierce in her convictions, though she could see, by the icy calm of his face, that he could not be convinced. "I could never be unhappy with him! He's my one true love!"

"Oh, precious," he replied, bringing her gloved hand forcefully to his lips and kissing the white silk softly. She watched him in horror, both revolted and inescapably fascinated, drawn to him even as her mind gaped in shock. "Let me teach you about love."

"No," she cried weakly, shaking her head, her silver waves tossing wildly about her face.

"Let me give you what Howl cannot," he said, dragging her closer, her slippers sliding over the tangled grasses, the beaten down flowers. "Let me show you what it is that makes love complete!"

"No!" she screamed, loudly now, closing her eyes in her desperation. "No, I won't do it! I won't give in to you! I'm loyal to Howl! I'll wait for him as long as I live!"

But he had lurched her forward, and suddenly they were running, Sophie stumbling behind him, pulled roughly along, tears streaming down her face as her silk dress rustled loudly against the flower blossoms. She lost a slipper in the struggle, and her delicate stocking grew dirty and damp, the plants crushing underfoot.

Finally, they stopped; and when Sophie opened her eyes, she saw that they were standing in front of the cute little cottage, the one she had so adored seeing it even from aware, the place where Howl had spent his childhood summers learning the ways of magic.

She trembled, her vision blurred from the tears that stung fresh in her eyes. He released her wrists, only to suddenly appear behind her, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders, and then, as the door flung open, he pushed her inside.

She stumbled against the hard floor, her balance uneven, one foot still in her wedding slipper. She raised her head to look about her, her mouth dropping open – this was not the cottage as she had once seen it so briefly. As shock seized her heart, she realized that this was a room with dark violet walls, nearly black in a darkness illuminating only from the few candles that sparsely lit the room. Instead of a simple wooden desk, there was, centered against the back wall, a large bed hung with heavy velvet curtains, and dressed with thick layers of red velvet and shimmering black silk.

She moved her trembling lips, struggling to speak, but was unable to form a single word. Then, like a shadow, Howl had suddenly crept up behind her, and he slung an arm across her chest and shoulders, pulling her against him, his breath moist against her neck. What made the embrace most frightening was the familiarity of it, the memory of Howl having done it so many times before.

But now, his lips lingered against her skin with the same mysterious stillness as their encounter in the ocean, and she was frightened, knowing that he would not release her from this, and knowing that, unlike Howl, he would not stop her from going too far.

"Don't resist me," he whispered, his words hot against her neck. She shivered, her lips parted uselessly as she felt his hand slide over her stomach, warm against the tight silk of her dress, his fingertips lingering at the curve of her waist.

"Aren't you really Howl?" she asked, desperate, her body straining against his touch. "Tell me you aren't just someone who looks as he does. Tell me you're my husband, and that this is happening, really happening."

"Does it matter?" he murmured into her ear, and then, as if she had never said a word at all, he closed the meager distance between them, taking her earlobe suddenly between his lips.

She gasped, startled at the wetness of the tip of his tongue, the roughness of the barest bite of his teeth, and struggled to feel herself from his grip. She thrashed wildly, kicking off her remaining slipper into the darkness; but Howl held her fast, pinning her wrists to her chest, not for a moment letting her go.

"Surrender, Sophie," he was whispering, his voice a low, sensual murmur against her skin as he nuzzled his nose against her throat, skimming his lips against her warm skin. "Admit that this was what you wanted from the start."

She whimpered, her mind echoing no – _no, no, no_ – even as he pressed his lips into her neck, covering her bare throat in kisses both moist and tender, soft kisses mingled with ones that sucked delicately against her flesh – and she whispered no even as she tilted her head back, baring her skin helplessly, unwilling to struggle any longer.

In a moment, he had taken her up in his arms, and was carrying her, as if her body were weightless, to the bed that had looked so foreboding before. He settled her down onto the pillows, and she closed her eyes wearily, reveling in the softness of it all, the unspeakable luxury of the silk against her bare shoulders, the velvet under her hands.

When she opened them, Howl was above her, his face obscured by the darkness of the room and half-hidden by the silken curtain of raven hair that hung across his face. She could make out, however, despite these things, a look on his lips and in his eyes of the deepest concentration, as if he were about to cast a spell on her so powerful she would never escape from it.

He reached out, his fingertips gently tracing her jaw; and she obeyed without hesitation, leaning her head back into the pillows, lifting herself up to meet his touch.

"You're beautiful, Sophie," he said in a low voice, and she suddenly found herself believing it. She found the waves of silver framing her face as elegant as the bedcovers, her chest heaving against her corset lovely, entrancing – she was suddenly a present to be unwrapped slowly, a gift to her own unique god.

She smiled coyly, letting her eyes slip closed again as he bent down to press his lips into her own, taking up where he had left off, only now she felt his hand pushing firmly up against her corset, higher than her waist, and then higher, higher, until she gasped in surprise, shifting her body to bring herself closer to him, arching her back so that her head fell back onto the pillows.

It went on like this, Sophie writhing gently underneath him, whimpering softly from time to time, until his other hand found its way under her dress, settling on her knee, and then sliding up her thigh, so slowly that she moaned aloud for the first time, now completely undone, every thought of propriety vanished.

She moaned louder still, head tossing against the pillows …

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Sophie moaned, her head tossing against the white pillows beneath it. She had twisted the sheets of the bed around her legs, pulling them and the blanket dutifully toward her, and then kicking them off as she tossed and turned. Eventually, the cold air, coupled with her loud murmurings, drew her husband out of his slumber.

"Mmm … mmm .. mmaaa-aaah! Ahh … ahh!" she mumbled, clutching blindly at the sheet underneath her hands.

Howl sleepily opened one eye, then two, taking in the scene before him: his wife, moaning incoherently, her nightgown pushed to mid-thigh, her legs kicking against the sheets, tossing her head back and forth – all to a strange rhythm he found familiar but couldn't quite recognize.

He propped himself up on his elbow, blinking to watch her with wide, concerned eyes.

"Sophie," he whispered, reaching out and tentatively pushing against her shoulder. She moaned loudly, stilling for a second, only to roll onto her side and begin again.

"Sophie," he said, more loudly this time: and moving toward her, he began shaking her as gently as he could, relieved when her eyes began fluttering open, her tossing slowing to an unsteady stretch.

She sighed, opening her eyes to him. He frowned, shocked at how dark they seemed, clouded and luminous in the moonlight that poured into their bedroom; and he leaned toward her, gently touching her cheek.

"You've had a nightmare," he explained, as gently as he could, waiting for her response.

"Howl?" she whispered, her voice tinged with a desperation, a longing he couldn't comprehend. He looked at her in surprise, nodding, taking her hand in his own and squeezing it gently.

"Yes," he said urgently, trying to calm her. "Would you like some hot milk?"

"Hot … milk?" she murmured, and then blanched, her eyes widening. She blinked as if suddenly awakening, then looked him in the eyes, her face the picture of horror, every line of her face rigid in her dismay.

"No," she said hurriedly, pursing her lines into a wild frown. "No … I'm fine, go back to sleep."

"Calm down, love," he said to her, reaching out to touch her shoulder; but she flinched at his touch, pulling away only to nestle herself down protectively into the pillows, tugging at the blanket to cover them, suggesting in her eagerness that he do the same.

"I'm fine," she said again, and unable to keep her eyes steady on him, she let them drift toward the window, where moonlight poured in over them like the glow of her wedding dress in the sunlight.

"Go back to sleep," she whispered.

He drew her close, and she submitted, resting her head dully against his shoulder. She stared out across the sea of blankets that was the bed they shared, her mind as blank as their color, the thoughts which passed through it as obscure as the objects scattering the ceiling. They slipped away like drops of water into the ocean, and soon she felt nothing but a horrible aching inside her heart. It gnawed at her, heavy in her chest, and she knew she could never escape it until she faced the truth, and did her best to correct it.

When Howl's breath was steady and even, and she was certain he had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep, she gently disentangled herself from his arms, slipping out of bed quiet as a mouse and padding her way softly downstairs into the kitchen.

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Sophie crept stealthily into the kitchen, leaning carefully over the grate. She watched Calcifer for a moment, his body glowing faintly in his sleep, the ambers concealing him shining brilliant orange, and then spoke, her voice a whisper so soft it would not have blown away a single one of his ashes.

"Calcifer," she called slowly, like a mother cooing to her child. He continued to sleep peacefully, and when he did not stir, she leaned forward more closely, and said, more urgently, "Calcifer! Wake up!"

He flickered awake slowly, the tiny flames ascending all at once from the embers, sketching tall and thin about the half-burnt logs as he yawned. He opened one glowing eye sleepily, his mouth curving sharply downward into a frown.

"Sophie?" he crackled faintly, yawning once again. "Sophie – it's still dark outside!"

"I know, Calcifer," she said, kneeling down in front of the grate. Her eyes were wide before him, and reflected in their clouded depths was every hint of desperation she struggled to keep from her voice as she fought to remain calm, composed. She wasn't sure why she thought she could handle such a strange situation by such simple means, but it was all she could think to do, and thus, her only option. "But I need your help."

"My help?" he asked, blinking both eyes in surprise. "Why? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all," she whispered back, that same anxiety clawing at her words. "But I need you to help me cast a spell. A spell to make me – make me beautiful. But not just beautiful, beautiful in a way that Howl … can't resist."

Calcifer stared at her levelly from between his logs, his frown incredulous now.

"You're already beautiful, Sophie!" he exclaimed finally, his flames soaring up to a level of full alertness. "And in any case, Howl thinks so too. He married you, he doesn't need any convincing."

"You'd be surprised," she mumbled under her breath, and when the fire demon raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, she bent her head, exhaustion flooding her features. She blinked her eyes several times, then raised her face to the fire, her hazel eyes so wide, so pleading, that even Calcifer's mouth fell open slightly.

"I know you can help me," she whispered. "You know as much as Howl! Surely you can teach me a spell as simple as this. Help me, Calcifer. Please! It would mean the world to me."

His flames lowered, flickering slowly as he considered this.

"Well," he replied hesitantly, his frown returning, "All right. But you'll have to be more specific. What do you mean, so that Howl wouldn't be able to resist you?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unable to think of the proper words. She swallowed hard, thinking of how to put it without revealing herself, and steadily rejecting each new phrase which came to her. Finally, she looked at Calcifer helplessly, her lips curved downward into a heavy pout.

"Do you mean that you want Howl to obey you?" the fire demon questioned finally, raising a fiery eyebrow.

Sophie blushed deeply, shaking her head wildly.

"Do you mean that you want for him to follow you everywhere?" he guessed again, blinking curiously in the flames.

She shook her head, averting her eyes in her embarrassment, pursing her lips tightly to hide her expression. For a moment she felt completely hopeless, because, after all, if she couldn't say it, how could she solve it?

"Never mind," she said, staring down nervously at her hands. "I'll just look through the books, and if I find what I'm looking for, I'll show you, and then we can do it together."

Calcifer was still staring oddly at her, struck dumb by her strange behavior. His frown deepened as he watched her stand, her nightgown twirling about her ankles, and walk quietly to the bookshelves. She ran her fingertips over the old, dusty volumes, the worn leather soft to her touch.

"Okay," the fire demon said uncertainly, too afraid of upsetting her further to question her as much as he would have liked. "But remember, some of those spells are very difficult. I can do only certain kinds of magic."

Sophie didn't respond. She had pulled out a large red volume, and had cracked it open, the old pages yellowed by age. She flicked past page after page, sweat forming on her forehead, her lips trembling. She was exhausted – but this could be her only chance for some time to research this, free of Howl's watchful eye.

After ten minutes of wildly searching it, she replaced the book, a deep frown marring her face. She pulled out another thick book, this one black, and began again.

Calcifer had never seen Sophie this way, so crazed and frantic, so obviously distraught. He feared she would break into tears at any moment, and were it not for the castle, he would have flown to her shoulder, his blue light shining comfortingly against her cheek.

"Did you find anything yet?" he asked meekly, his fire a rich burnt orange in his worry.

"I – no," she said, still grazing page after page, shaking her head jerkily from time to time, her frown mirroring her pain. And then, suddenly, her entire body froze, and she held the page, staring down at it with wide eyes.

She read over it hungrily, then looked up, dazed. Calmly, she returned to the fire, and hesitantly, she held the open book there for him to read, her face obscured in its shadow. Her eyes were shameful, but she held her lips open in an expression of such innocent wonder, such hope, that Calcifer's flames jumped up immediately, ready to help her at any cost.

"Spell for Yielding to Passion," he read quietly, then studied the details to himself. When he had finished, Sophie slowly lowered the book, staring at him with large, imploring eyes.

"Is this too difficult for you?" she asked in a soft, desperate whisper. He frowned, looking at her again with that incredulous expression, still not understanding why she wanted something like this so very badly, but too afraid to go against her.

"No," he said hesitantly. "It's easy enough. But it's manipulative."

"Manipulative? What does that mean?" Sophie asked, swallowing hard in her anxiety.

"It means that it directly controls what someone thinks, feels or does," the fire demon replied seriously, flaring up slightly. "And you have to remember, Howl is a wizard. He could bat this away like a fly."

"But if he doesn't realize …?" she questioned, gesturing vaguely with her hand.

"He would never expect something like this from me, or from you, for that matter," he answered, averting his eyes up toward the stairs as he spoke. "It might catch him off guard enough that the spell will influence him without his sensing it."

"So it might work?" she asked, taking a step toward him. Her hazel eyes glowed in the light he cast, so that her wild emotions were eerily apparent, her face so expressionless she seemed a tortured ghost.

"Maybe," Calcifer said, frowning deeply. "But I don't know, Sophie."

She frowned weakly at him, her face a mask of glass so marred by cracks, it was a miracle it had not shattered.

"Why?" she whispered sadly. "Why couldn't you at least try?"

Calcifer sunk down guiltily into his logs, his eyebrows lowering into an expression of powerless misery.

"I can," he said doubtfully. "I will. But I wish you would tell me why this is so important to you, Sophie. Have you talked to Howl about this? Have you tried to fix whatever he's done without resorting to magic?"

Sophie swallowed with difficulty, closing her eyes for one long moment. When she opened them again, Calcifer saw that which he had feared most – a single tear had slid down her pale cheek, its path gleaming in the firelight.

"It's what he isn't doing, not what he's done," she said in a broken, detached voice. "And I can't tell him, I couldn't possibly! I know it doesn't make the most sense, but what I want from him – I shouldn't have to ask! It should just … happen!"

"Howl loves you," the fire demon replied in a low, humble voice. "Like I love you. Whatever it is, he'd probably do it in a heartbeat. I don't think there's anything we wouldn't do for your happiness."

She stared at him blankly, her eyes unnaturally wide, and then sunk her shoulders, covering her face as she curled into herself to cry. She stumbled weakly into her chair, rocking herself slowly back and forth as gentle sobs rolled from her lips. Calcifer stared at her, stunned, unsure how to comfort her.

"Sophie, don't cry," he called pathetically, wishing again that he could leave the grate.

"You don't understand," she cried softly, her face still hidden by her hands. "That's what makes it so horrible, is how much I know he _does_ love me, how perfect he's made our life, how he really would do anything! That's what makes it unbearable to want more from him! To be so selfish, when all he wants is my happiness!"

"You're not selfish!" Calcifer protested. "You've saved us both! You do as much for him as he does for you - where would we all be without you? The house would be filthy, and I'd still be trapped as his slave!"

But Sophie was crying again, her sobs broken as she took in great gasps of breath, trying to calm herself even as she became more and more hysterical.

"I can't ask him," she whimpered, shaking her head in her hands. "I can't – what could I say, if he doesn't know it already? I – I couldn't! What's wrong with me? Why doesn't he _want_ – but you won't tell him, will you? Oh, please! Calcifer, don't tell Howl!"

"I won't tell him," the fire demon said softly, burning low, his frown disappearing into the ashes.

She pulled her hands slightly away from her face, smearing her hands against her it to dry her tears, then wringing them weakly on her nightgown. Her eyes were moist and bloodshot, her expression so crumbled, it took all Calcifer's strength not to fly to her side and let the castle drop.

"Don't worry," he was saying, trying to cheer her. "We'll try the spell. Maybe that will fix everything."

She nodded weakly, sniffling as she stared down at her hands, her mind blank and her heart heavy, her cry having drained of her of what little energy she had taken with her from bed.

"I hope so," she said, not really believing it. How could a simple girl bewitch a great wizard? She had a horrible sinking feeling in her gut that it would all go wrong, but at the same time, she was too desperate to call it off, knowing what her fate would be if she could not help him along.

And then, in the back of her mind, there drifted the most terrible question of all: what sort of marriage did they have, if on their honeymoon, she was already making secret plans to trick her husband?

Her chest seized at this, and she stood shakily, needing to move, unwilling to fall again into tears. She would try to have hope, have faith in Calcifer's abilities, and would try her best to go through this pretending that, if it succeeded, everything would become as perfect as before.

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This was a long chapter! It just wouldn't end!

Well, anyway. Please let me know what you thought of the dream sequence. I tried my best to make it authentic to Sophie, but still wicked enough to be beyond her. I want to thank everyone for your reviews – many of them make me so happy, and inspire me to continue!

Thank you! Please show your love with words, not thoughts!


	8. In Which Sophie Bewitches Her Husband

"Okay," said Calcifer, flaring himself up in a determined fashion, even though his voice was heavy with doubt. "If we're going to do this, we should do it now. Howl could wake up at any moment."

"Right," Sophie said, swallowing hard. Every part of her mind screamed at her that this was wrong, horribly wrong – how desperate, to bewitch your own husband! – but she couldn't stop herself from moving forward, so hungry was she for her marriage to be complete. "Just let me know what I can do to help."

"You can start by fetching the ingredients listed on the page," the fire demon stated gravely. "We can't begin until I have them. Hurry!"

And she did, rushing over to the kitchen shelves with the book slung open in the curve of her arm. She used her free hand to grab everything the page listed – cayenne pepper, vanilla beans, chocolate, ginger, rose petals, a banana, figs – until her arms were loaded down. She dumped it all on the table, then looked up pleadingly at her partner.

"Good," he said, nodding his flames. "Now just follow the directions."

"Shouldn't only a witch be able to do this?" she asked, hesitant. She frowned deeply, rolling a fig nervously beneath her fingers.

Calcifer shook his fiery head, frowning in return and rolling his glowing coal eyes in impatience.

"Relax," he said. "This is only the physical part. I'll help you at the end, to bring the spell to life. Go on! And mind the measurements."

Sophie did, painstakingly lifting out teaspoons of spices and gently turning them over into the mortar the spell called for, then gingerly adding the large ingredients – seven rose petals, the slices of fruit, and the chocolate Calcifer helped her melt over his flame. Finally, she ground them together into what became a thick, spicy-sweet smelling kind of paste.

Gently, she laid aside the pestle, returning her wide, apprehensive eyes to her teacher.

"You're sure you got it all right?" Calcifer asked quietly, raising himself up to peer over the side of the mortar, surveying its contents carefully.

"I did my best," Sophie answered shyly, taking it up in her hands and walking toward him. On the way, she happened a glance out the window. Already, a milky pink dawn was staining the navy sky, and dark grey clouds were gathering on the horizon. She frowned; she doubted they would be sailing anywhere today.

"Okay," he said, his face settling into a frown of concentration as she stopped just in front of the hearth, the mortar held steady in both of her hands. "Now comes the important part. Hold that over me, so that I can touch it with my magic – and when I do, I need you to focus very, very hard on how you want the spell to work out."

Sophie's cheeks blushed pink, and she held in her breath, startled.

"Why do you need me to do something like _that_?" she whispered, stunned.

"Because," the fire demon said, rather indignantly, "This is your spell, not mine! I may be lending you my magic, but it's your will that will guide it."

"I see," Sophie answered regretfully. She swallowed hard, trying to calm her stomach, which seemed to be twisting itself into knots. Calcifer had said she need only _focus _on her intentions, not speak them aloud! No one need hear her thoughts.

She nodded firmly, eager to go on, hoping that the sooner they began, the sooner it would all be over.

"I'm ready," she said, as loudly as she dared, holding the mortar out toward the grave fire demon. "Be careful not to burn me."

Calcifer's mouth fell open, and he shifted back, seemingly offended by this.

"I would never burn _you_, Sophie!" he said incredulously, and then, with an indignant puff of ashes, raised himself high in the hearth so that his warm orange-red flames just licked the bottom of the bowl.

"Go on," he said, his flames shimmering a lovely pink framed by dancing shadows of white and blue. "Focus on the spell!"

She hurriedly shut her eyes, pressing them tightly closed in her sudden, frantic concentration. At first, nothing came to her, and then, like a pure spring dripping down between a wall of rock, her dream returned to her. She sucked in her breath as she remembered where Howl's hands had been, and how sure they were, how the pressure of his touch was perfect, not too heavy, but not at all too soft …

"Sophie!" Calcifer whispered, lowering his flames slightly as he returned to a normal shade.

… and how wonderful it had been with his lips on her neck, as if he would never stop, as if it would only keep getting better and better, and he would never pull away from her …

"Sophie!" he cried again, this time more urgently, casting anxious looks up toward the stairs.

… and how his hand had pushed aside the heavy waves of silk that were her wedding dress, sliding it so slowly up her …

"Sophie!" he crackled loudly, with so much passion that one of his logs tumbled in front of the other.

Her eyes snapped open, and she panted, looked down at Calcifer in horrified surprise.

"What!" she half-asked, half-exclaimed, breathless from her daydream.

"That's enough!" the fire demon crackled, exasperated. "That should be plenty of guidance for the spell. Now, take that to the table, and do whatever the book says you should do with it."

Sophie did just that, greatly relieved to turn her back on the demon. Her cheeks were burning a hot red, and she was enormously glad that this was almost finished. Gently, she set down the mortar, and glanced at the open book that lay beside it.

Her mouth fell open in horror, and she took a step back, turning her head around to speak with Calcifer even as the blood drained from her shocked face.

"It says the potion needs to mingle with my _blood_!" she cried, mortified. She wrung her hands together, knowing she ought to have known better than to meddle with magic that was relatively forbidden to her.

"Well, yes," Calcifer answered calmly, raising a flaming eyebrow. "That potion has to go_ somewhere_, don't you think?"

"But how do I get it into my blood?" she winced, her lips twisting in her fear. "I don't want to bleed myself dry for this!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" the demon said, and then, foreign as it sounded in the midst of their rather serious undertaking, he laughed, cackling up tiny orange sparks all around his face. "There are lots of ways to taint blood, but the easiest is to take some of that potion and rub it into your wrist."

"My wrist?" Sophie asked softly. She frowned uncertainly when the fire demon only nodded, turning back to the mortar with a white face. Slowly, she crept back to the table, letting her hands hover over the bowl for several long moments before quickly diving them in.

The paste was warm, just bordering on being hot enough to burn the skin. She winced, and as quickly as she could, slathered it onto her left wrist, taking in her breath as it heated her pale flesh.

And then, her mouth fell open; for as quickly as she had put it on her skin, the paste had sunk inside it, molding around her wrist and boiling down into it so quickly she hardly caught sight of it.

She looked up, amazed, at Calcifer.

"I know, sweet, isn't it," he said, with a short, devilish smile. "But now we have to ask ourselves: how do we get it into Howl? It won't do a thing working inside only you."

"We can't just slap it on him," she said, musing to herself. She was suddenly feeling intensely alert, her body tingling with a new appreciation for the strength of her ankles, the flexibility of her hands, the way she could curve her back so easily as she stretched. "Maybe we can plant it in one of his hair tonics? Or perfumes?"

"That's an idea," agreed the fire demon, "Only he might notice the red goopy part of it. And it smells – and how do we know which one he'll use?"

Sophie frowned, seating herself heavily in her favorite chair.

"You have a point," she sighed, rocking compulsively back and forth.

"I know!" Calcifer cried, flaring up all at once, his flames a brilliant neon orange. "Put some in his breakfast!"

"His food?" she questioned, frowning incredulously. "But Howl never finishes a meal – and this has _cayenne pepper_ in it, among other things – he's bound to notice."

"So?" the demon countered excitedly. "Tell him you put strawberries in it. Tell him you made it especially for him, a brand new honeymoon recipe. It doesn't really matter how you put it – even if it tastes like a cow pie, he'll be so guilty he'll finish every bite, if he thinks you slaved all morning making it for him."

Her delicate frown deepened, and she leaned toward the fire, her eyes misty and dark.

"That seems to take advantage of his love for me," she said softly, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

"Maybe so," answered Calcifer, lowering his flames to level himself with her downcast eyes. "But we've come this far. How important is it to you that you have this spell?"

In response, Sophie pursed her lips, taking a deep breath into her heavy chest. Though her heart whispered otherwise, she knew there was only really one choice.

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Sophie turned around with a bright, wide smile on her face, her long, silvery hair flowing with the movement. She was dressed perkily in her favorite apron, and behind her, a lovely fire crackled in the grate.

"Good morning, Howl!" she cried, her smile straining so much she thought her cheeks might crack. He stopped in his sprint down the stairs, admiring her for a moment with a secretive smile, and then approached her at a slower pace.

"Good morning," he said, leaning down to give her a short, sweet kiss. "You're up early. I thought we had come to an agreement – no cooking or cleaning for my new wife!"

"If by agreement you mean your announcement yesterday," Calcifer mumbled from the hearth, "I would remind you that even new wives are not candidates for your slavery."

"They are if it means they can relax for once," he said, and he smiled at Sophie in a way that was so wonderful, so perfect in his innocence, that she nearly confessed then and there. Luckily, the fire demon saved her from opening her mouth.

"Maybe Sophie _likes_ to cook!" he spoke loudly, raising his voice with his flickering flames. "She does have an extraordinary partner in the kitchen – if nowhere else!"

"Logs damp last night, my friend?" Howl answered cheerfully, taking his seat at the table. To the untrained eye, that might have been all – but Sophie saw in his blue eyes the tiniest glimmer of mischief. "I wonder why."

"I'll have my revenge," the fire demon said in a voice so low, it was nearly a whisper. "And it'll be worse than a little water in your bed."

Sophie coughed instinctively at this point, stepping up to the table and thus putting herself between the two. Howl immediately turned his attention to her, smiling at her again that dazzling smile, and looking down into the bowl before him.

"What do we have here?" he asked eagerly. "Is this pink oatmeal?"

She laughed anxiously, wringing her hands on her apron as she nodded. Calcifer coughed up a small cloud of ash in the hearth, lowering himself candidly to watch.

"Yes," she found herself saying, still nodding obsessively. "It's spicy strawberry oatmeal! I made up the recipe all by myself. Just – for - you."

Howl looked down into the bowl, a little incredulous, and then raised his eyes to hers. He still had a slight, peaceful smile on his face, but Sophie could see doubt glimmering clearly in his eyes.

"Spicy oatmeal?" he questioned, raising one slender raven eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," she replied with enthusiasm, still grinning painfully. "I used to love spicy strawberry oatmeal as a child. Didn't you?"

Howl looked at her for a moment with wide eyes, and then, as if he had forgotten himself, nodded.

"Oh, of course," he said. "Definitely. So this is your own recipe?"

"Yes," she answered tersely. She was watching his every moment with trembling nerves, her eyes following his hand's slow, hesitant movement to the spoon, eying the tentative way he held it in the air above the bowl.

"You should make some for Markl, when he comes home," he commented loosely, and then, as if regretting that he couldn't say more, he dipped in his spoon and raised it to his lips.

Sophie held her breath as his lips jerked slightly, his eyes blinking as his skin slightly flushed. He seemed to freeze entirely for a moment, and then, as if making a conscious choice to do so, he swallowed.

He licked his lips slowly, swallowing again.

"It's delicious," he said, reaching quickly for his glass of orange juice. "I've never had better."

Despite herself, Sophie gave him a shaky smile, turning her head slightly to look at Calcifer in the corner of her eye. He was burning low, as intent on Howl as she was, and she realized, suddenly, that he felt as much tension as she concerning the spell. Only Howl was alone in his thinking, for once a poor, hapless victim.

He was taking another bite, shoving it mechanically into his mouth.

"I'm so glad you like it," she said weakly, resting her weight against the table. It was only a matter of time, now.

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Will Howl become Sophie's unwitting sex slave!

Heh … only joking … but not really, I suppose. If you want to find out what happens, you know what to do. Pay me with your praise! Only joking there too, but it's so much fun to receive and read all of your reviews. They make me feel confident in my writing and definitely encourage me to go on. Thanks! Be sexy!


	9. In Which Sophie Meets A Vampire

Sophie licked her lips slowly, sensing how rigid her entire body had suddenly become, tension and pure will holding back every trembling nerve. It was not out of fear – she merely knew that, if she lost control of her body even for a fraction of a second, she would lunge. She was an animal ready to pounce, aware of every movement in her prey.

She could see through her large, glassy eyes that Howl was feeling the change in himself now, as well. He dropped his spoon to the table with a slight clatter, his lips parted as if in mid-sentence. When he raised his eyes to hers, they locked immediately, burning and melting and searing into each other's slightly frantic stare until she could see nothing else.

The rest happened in a horrible blur that Sophie, at the time, perceived as the most languid and delicious of dreams. Howl stood from the table so quickly that his chair toppled over behind him, and the loud noise startled Sophie. She stepped back, but a smile spread across her lips; the movement had excited her, thrill mixing beautifully with her brief shock. She watched, mesmerized, as he closed the meager distance between them.

Without the usual indolent politeness, the normal carelessness, he seized her around the waist with both of his hands, pulling her roughly close to him and pressing his cheek to her forehead, his breathing ragged and uneven. Sophie sighed, sucking in the air around her deeply – never had she been so conscious of Howl's rich, warm scent, never had the dark curtain of his hair hiding her face felt so silky, so heavenly – it was almost more than she could stand.

She moaned gently, wrapping her arms around his waist and arching her back in a smooth, cat-like motion, pushing her body against his chest.

"This is nice," she mumbled incoherently, sliding her fingernails against the smooth white fabric of his tunic, just barely scraping the skin underneath. "This is very, very _nice_ … and Howl … you smell so _good_ …"

He made a soft guttural sound in the back of his throat that Sophie took to be a positive reply, raising his right hand to trace her jaw. He bent down and kissed her so firmly, with so much passion and need and utter _control_ that it was all she could do to clutch desperately at the back of his shirt, unspeakably frustrated at her inability to be closer.

He was _taking _her, finally, and without a word – she felt a surge in her body of both overwhelming relief and devastating desire, knowing she would, from this point on, not only fail to do a thing to stop him, but would give back everything he gave her with equal force. It was perfect, complete surrender.

Howl pulled away, his fingers tugging in frustration at her modest collar, which neatly circled the base of her throat in white lace. She barely had time to notice this problem before he had slipped his slender fingers inside it, and, without a moment's hesitation, pulled as hard as he could.

Sophie yelled as she was tugged forward, her head jolting back as the fabric ripped in one clean, straight line down her chest. She looked down, wide-eyed, at the large gap, which fell open to reveal the top of one side of her corset – and then closed them again in a blissful gasp as a sated Howl pressed his lips heavily onto her throat with warm, wet kisses that immediately cleared her mind of all surprise or protest.

She pressed her body against his once again, astonished, but delighted with the direction in which things seemed to be going. Howl made the gentle sound in his throat again, and pulled away for a moment, his breath hot against her skin.

"You're so soft," he sighed, and somehow, she knew at once exactly what he meant. She pushed herself against him again, lovingly and with inexplicable pride, wishing instantly that her corset wasn't wrapped so tightly around her, obscuring what she wanted so much to share.

But before she could contemplate this further, Howl had bent his head down again, and his warm lips were on her neck – and then, with no warning, he suddenly bit down hard in her soft skin.

Sophie screamed, shocked, curling her hands into fists where they were clamped onto the back of his tunic. The pain was sharp and extreme, especially in a place so delicate – but then, as she was still panting to regain her breath, he sucked deeply, slowly, on the fresh bruise. She whimpered as the pain washed away, replaced by a gentle throbbing and a tenderness that was warm, almost pleasant …

It was then, as this new feeling was washing over her, that she blinked. Suddenly, her eyes focused on the stairs beyond Howl's head, and her hands loosened their grip on his tunic. The entire world had crashed back in place, and it was eerily foreign, as if she had just reappeared in the room by magic.

She felt Howl's hand on her waist weaken, then fall away altogether. They stayed locked in each other's embrace for a long, awkward moment, neither quite remembering how they had gotten there, and finally, unable to bear it any longer, Sophie took a step back, keeping her dazed eyes on his face.

He had averted his eyes, and as she watched, he lifted his hands, palms facing upward, and stared at them intently, his parted lips sealing themselves into a grave frown. He turned his head toward the hearth, his pale face obscured by his curtain of raven hair.

For the first time, Sophie realized that Calcifer was there, his flames flickering nervously as he studied them. He turned his eyes meekly from Sophie, whom he gazed at in unmistakably guilt, then to Howl, at whose gaze he seemed to withdraw timidly into himself.

With a sudden burst of sparks, he turned back to Sophie, his great black mouth babbling uncontrollably.

"I stopped the spell, Sophie," he said wildly, spilling it all out as if to have her know the truth before Howl could get his hands on him. "I couldn't stand it any longer – he was _hurting_ you! You screamed! Just look at your _neck_!"

Sophie stared at him blankly, not really recalling a scream, let alone pain or fear. She blinked several times and, convinced by his genuine concern, she raised her hand to her throat, letting her fingers brush against it apprehensively.

At first, she felt nothing – and then they brushed the mark, and she winced in pain. It was horribly tender, wet and hot and aching, and she pulled her hand away hurriedly, dropping it to her side and trying to think, desperately, what exactly had happened to her just moments before. Images and feelings and words were all jumbled horribly in her mind, and she could sort out nothing in the confusion to answer her questions.

She didn't have to wait long for an explanation. As soon as she raised her eyes, she saw that Howl was staring at her, his blue eyes unearthly wide and his expression frozen in a look of horror so strange on his usually carefree features that for a long moment, she simply stared back at him in frightened wonder.

He swallowed, making a vague gesture with his hand that meant nothing to her. He was ungodly pale, she noticed, and her first instinct was to care for him, to assure him, somehow, that this was over, and that they had made it through safely. She lifted her hand, reaching it out for him.

He followed it with his wide eyes, and it was then that Sophie saw it for herself. There was, staining the tips of her fingers, blood – enough blood that she gasped, holding it in the air in front of her as she stared at it, horrified, disgusted – and then, as if suddenly realizing the truth, she brushed them again against her neck and stared in shock at the fresh blood that appeared.

Unable to speak, she looked up at her husband, wanting for a moment just a single word that might comfort her, might make this, somehow, all right. But this was her grand mistake – as she looked at him desperately for aid, he parted his lips helplessly, and she saw, for the first time, that they were stained with smears of blood.

Sophie screamed, stepping back wildly into the table. It jolted, sending several dishes falling to the floor. They shattered around her feet, and all the time she hardly noticed, unable to tear her eyes away from the blood on his face, suddenly grasping frantically at her torn dress and using it to hide her exposed corset, stepping back again and again.

"You," she trembled, shouting it out in her shock, "You – you _vampire_!"

Howl stared back at her with silent lips that hung open in, if possible, more shock than her words could contain, and then, as if her accusation had brought him back to life, he spun around, storming to the hearth.

"You!" he roared at the flames, raising a fist in anger. His long raven hair and raindrop pendent swung wildly about his figure, making him appear more the furious sorcerer than ever. "You think I can't recognize your magic! You cast this spell on me!"

Calcifer blanched a shade of sickly yellow, lowering himself cautiously down into his logs.

"I didn't know that this would happen!" he protested, spouting sparks all around his face. "I didn't know it was some kind of vampire spell! Honestly! Really!"

"Don't think I don't know you, Calcifer!" he continued, his blue eyes narrowed dangerously in his rage. "You've been trying to split us up from the moment we got married! Very clever! If I drained her blood, surely she'd leave!"

"If I wanted you to do that, I wouldn't have stopped the spell!" the fire demon argued, flaring up slightly, but still grudgingly fearful.

"You didn't realize how dangerous it was to Sophie!" Howl shouted, and then, as if her name were another magic word directing him into action, he turned around to face her, his features softening into loving concern. He took a step toward her, holding out his hands.

"My love," he said, running his eyes fearfully over her torn dress and the red, swelling mark on her neck, "Are you all right?"

She gasped under her breath, her trembling lips open in fear, her eyes darting anxiously from his hand to his face. She stepped madly backward, then cried out in pain as her bare foot sliced into a large piece of the broken bowl, cutting it deeply.

Howl saw this, and stepped toward her urgently, ready to help.

"Sophie!" he said to her in alarm, but she was shaking her head wildly.

"No!" she said loudly, averting her eyes as she drew in long, labored breathes. "Don't come near me! Don't touch me!"

Howl's eyes widened, their depths softening to a rare state of sadness. He lowered his hand, pursing his lips into a deep, miserable frown. He swallowed hard, and then, cautiously, began in the most heartbreakingly tender, melancholy voice:

"Sophie," he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear, "It wasn't my fault."

She heard this, and it made her stand stock still among the broken dishes, one hand still frantically holding closed the front of her dress. A great part of her heart compelled her to look up at him, to look him in the eye and agree, to tell him the whole and unmitigated truth of her plan and the misery that had led up to it – but another part, one much more familiar, picked up her feet and ran.

She ran straight to her old bedroom even as Howl called out her name, locking and bolting the door hysterically behind her before rushing to her bed and collapsing, her chest heaving, on her old bed. The smell of her old quilt was comforting, and she breathed it in deeply even as she found she could hardly catch her breath, her body safe, but her mind still trapped in the horrible situation that had, she realized with a shudder, been created entirely by her own naivety.

He was knocking on the door now, quietly but urgently, speaking through the old wood.

"Sophie, are you all right?" he was saying, concern evident in his kind voice. "Let me in, love. Please? Sophie! At least answer!"

She turned her head listlessly into her pillow. She knew that if he wanted, he could open the door with a flick of his finger, but as it was, knew also that he would respect her enough to leave her in peace. She waited in silence, listening as his pleas grew more desperate and weak, and then sighed when she realized he had finally gone away.

Sophie wasn't sure how long she lay there, dispassionately, on the bed. It felt like hours, each minute ticking away more painfully than the next. For a time, she swore she could feel remnants of the spell still floating in her veins, making her feel achy and incomplete, as if someone had stolen the one part of her body that gave it its strength. The same thoughts ran over and over again in her mind.

She knew she could not face Howl. Before all this, before her wicked, deplorable idea had blown up in her face, she had at least been able to lie to him and still feel as if things might soon inexplicably improve. But now, how could she look into his eyes again? She would need to tell him it was her idea; she certainly couldn't leave Calcifer to take the heat. And if she told him she had asked for the spell, it would inevitably lead to confessing why she had wanted it – and that was a shame Sophie knew she couldn't possibly bear.

She wasn't this sort of woman! She wasn't supposed to _want_ for things like this to happen. She was normal, polite, and good – or at least, she had thought so. But now, in the course of one afternoon, she had become no better than the Witch of the Waste in wanting to steal his heart – only she had stolen his body instead.

She whimpered, curling her legs toward her stomach. She was sure that Howl had his reasons. Maybe what Lettie had told her about wizards being able to protect against pregnancy was all garbage, and Howl didn't want a child with her. There were other explanations as well. After all, hair aside, she wasn't very beautiful. It was possible that he simply didn't want her.

She blinked, realizing that her eyes had filled with hot, salty tears. They burned as she closed her eyes tightly, comforted by the darkness, wishing that sleep would come mercifully and take her away.

She knew in her mind that there was only one thing she could do.

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Sometime after the sun had set, Sophie cautiously opened her door. She peered warily into the kitchen, letting her breath exhale sharply as she saw that it was dark, empty except for the flickering flames of the fire demon in the hearth. His shadows played eerily on the walls, and when he looked at her, his eyes wide and his mouth a rigid frown, she realized that his movements reflected something sad.

She entered the kitchen as quietly as she could, taking her satchel with her. Calcifer, when he might otherwise have called out to her, only watched her gravely as she approached the hearth.

"Where's Howl?" she asked softly, sparing the need for a greeting. The demon flickered low on his logs, letting out a long, tremendous sigh.

"He's in his room," he explained in a low voice. "He seems to be taking this pretty rough. He said that the next time it rains, he's putting me out."

Sophie frowned, taking a log from the pile and handing it to him sympathetically, as a friend might hand another a tissue. He took it gratefully, pulling it somberly toward himself and letting it drop among the others.

"He doesn't mean that," she said quietly. "You're as good as his best friend. Neither of us would ever want you gone – and besides, the moment he comes back down, you're going to tell him the whole truth. Tell him that this was all my idea."

Calcifer frowned, looking up at her doubtfully.

"I can't do that," he protested as the new log cracked in his flame. "If Howl is angry with you, you'll fight, and then you'll be sad, and I won't have it. Don't worry about me – rain or not, I can take care of myself. He'll get over it."

Sophie shook her head quietly, trying her best to be calm, composed and firm about all of this. She knew that she wouldn't have another chance to leave her instructions.

"No, you must," she said resolutely, looking intently at the demon. "Tell him exactly what happened. He needs to know the truth – and I could never forgive myself if you suffered for my mistakes."

"Well," Calcifer said lowly, in his crackling voice, "Why couldn't you tell him yourself?"

"Because I'm leaving," she whispered, tightening her grip on her satchel as if it might strengthen her resolve.

"Leaving!" he exclaimed, flaring up high in the hearth, his flames suddenly dancing wildly around his face. He crackled loudly, and the logs tumbled down over each other, summoning up clouds of ash from below. "You can't leave! You're what holds us all together! None of us are any good without you making us into a family – and besides, I don't want to be stuck here with Howl! I value what little sanity I've kept in this place!"

"Calm down," she whispered loudly, trying to shush him in case his alarm might alert Howl. "It's not forever. It's only for a little while – I just need time to think about all of this. I can't face Howl right now; not after what I did. Can't you please try to understand that?"

The fire demon burned low in the grate, looking up at her with eyes narrowed in doubt, his expression reflecting slight hurt.

"I think that if you apologized," he said softly, and a bit hesitantly, "Howl would believe you. He would believe anything you said – and then he would forgive you. Maybe after that, everything could go back to normal around here."

Sophie smiled bitterly, her heart seizing in her chest. The fire demon reminded her suddenly of her husband – childish, and completely naïve, just as she had been.

"I wish it was that simple," she found herself saying, shaking her head gently. "But I can't lie to him any longer. I can't pretend that things are perfect when really, I find myself needing – needing more than that. I need to face this, and I need to do it alone."

Calcifer narrowed his glowing eyes, and continued to look at her doubtfully. She knew, suddenly, that he was holding back – he wanted to argue, and make her stay, but instead, he was grudgingly letting her go.

"I don't really understand what you're talking about," he said in a low, unhappy voice. "But you've never led us in the wrong direction. Maybe you do need to do whatever it is you need to do alone – but you have to promise that when you do need help, you'll ask for it. And you have to promise you'll come back!"

"Of course I'll come back," Sophie said, wishing she could reach out and hug him. Instead, she brought her hand to her face, brushing away the few tears that had escaped from her eyes. "I love Howl with all of my heart – and I love you too, Calcifer."

The demon burned a rosy red, smiling slightly.

"Well," he said after a long pause, "Howl will notice right away that you're gone. Make sure you don't let him bully you into coming back and being his wife – because if there's anything worse than having you gone, it's having you here unhappy."

Sophie smiled delicately, nodding.

"You're pretty wise, for a demon who spent his entire life on Earth in a fireplace," she said, chuckling sadly, "Feeding off Howl's heart."

"He's a fool, it's true," Calcifer admitted conversationally. "But his magic! And that was only a brief few years, anyhow. I have eternity to escape from his influence."

Her smile widened slightly, and she hoisted up her satchel, feeling her heart seize again as she turned, fighting her every instinct, toward the door. For one moment, she wished that Howl would appear on the stairs, calling her name, questioning her, taking her in his arms and begging her to stay – but the moment passed, and still, she was alone.

"Tell him the truth, Calcifer," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I know that I'll see you soon."

And without waiting for a response, she headed toward the door. She closed her eyes as she reached for the handle, knowing that in just a few seconds, she would lose her chance to look back.

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Ahh – well, what can I say? Sophie's left Howl. I feel sorry for him – he's really just a victim in all of this, and there's no easy solution. And Sophie's torn between being honest with herself and not pretending anymore, and wanting to be with her love. Do you think she'll stay away long?

All this over love making … heh heh. Well, let me know what you think of this, as always. The more encouragement, the faster I write!


	10. In Which Sophie Tries to Explain

Sophie opened the castle door, peering through the darkness at the valley that spread out before her. The dark clouds had settled into a cold, drizzling rain, and she sneered unhappily at the sight of it, but, with a deep breath of resolution, she stepped outside, shutting the door behind her. She knew that if she looked back, even for a second, at the warmth and love she was leaving behind, she would never depart.

She pulled the brim of her hat down over her face, scowling. The events of the day – Howl's wide, stunned eyes, his innocent pleading, and even Calcifer's hesitant understanding – had dampened her spirits as thoroughly as the rain would dampen her clothes by the time she reached Market Chipping. This, combined with her new feelings, created a frustration so unbearable, she wanted to scream.

She marched on through the murky fields, hating her situation more with every step. She had been sure (even afraid) that her marriage with Howl would turn out to be breathlessly exciting, or at the very least, deliciously intriguing, every day interesting in a new, unfolding way – and she had expected, she realized, that her love life be something similar. Hardly this – hardly the image of herself trudging alone in the rain, her heart as bitter as that of a cranky old woman.

_A virgin on my honeymoon_, she thought miserably to herself. _I marry an unfathomably powerful wizard notorious for stealing women's hearts, and I'm a virgin on my honeymoon. It figures you would end up like this, Sophie! Your luck was bound to run out someday._

She sighed, pushing her thoughts through her mind like cheese through a grater. She felt her cold hands curl into fists as she realized she was angry – furious! – at fate, for handing this to her. What had she done to deserve this impossible situation?

A struggling part of her heart, probably the most genuine part, was urging her to turn back. To stop running away and face him, face the situation, with honesty, no matter the consequences – to look him in the eye and say, Howl Jenkins, you wretched idiot! Make love to me, right here, _right now_!

But even as she thought this, she blushed, drawing her shawl anxiously around herself. True, he was a miserable fool (as would be any man knowing less than herself on these topics), and certainly, someone needed to set him straight – but she was … Sophie! How could she, a woman who nearly missed spending her life making hats, a quiet, proper woman, ever be so forceful concerning … sex?

She sighed again, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. Even if she did just that, told him to his face what she wanted from him, she knew what would happen. She could imagine it perfectly: Howl's blank stare, asking her – make love to you, Sophie? But I _already_ love you!

_That perfect _moronshe thought gratingly. She would not explain the facts of life to her husband – she simply wouldn't! That would drain all the fun and romance out of it, and besides – she just couldn't, and that was that! She would simply need to figure out a way to educate him … indirectly.

And likely, the best way to do that was to figure out why he was so ignorant in the first place.

Sophie looked up from her thoughts, narrowing her eyes across the vast darkness that stretched in front of her. Market Chipping was still at least an hour away, from the looks of it. She clenched her hand into a fist, shaking it grimly at the starless sky.

_Now would be the perfect time for Turniphead to show up with an umbrella_, she thought, then laughed lightly to herself, imagining the Prince of a neighboring country suddenly appearing out of thin air to do something so obviously below a person of his class.

She continued to walk forward, resolute, though she had begun now to shiver under her wet clothes.

_Damnation, _she thought icily. _I'll have your head once I find a way to solve all this, Howl!_

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"I've told you a thousand times," Markl said darkly, crossing his small arms. "I bathe _weekly_."

"Nonsense!" Lettie said, crossing her arms in the exact same fashion, though her face bared an expression of coy smugness, while his was pure defiance. "I'll bet there's flour behind your ears, little man. Now, either you get into that bath without another word, or I'll strip you down and wash you myself. How would you like that!"

His mouth dropped open in horror, his nose crinkling in disgust.

"I won't have you humiliating me!" he shouted, running toward the guest room door.

"Oh no you don't!" Lettie called out loudly, sprinting after him in a wave of pink skirts. She gained on him quickly with her long, young legs, and was just about to snatch the back of his vest when she heard a faint knocking on her apartment door. She paused, turning toward it just in time to hear the guest room door slam and lock.

She huffed in frustration, giving the closed door a look of death before quickly smoothing back her hair and walking toward the front door, her gait slow and polite.

"I'm coming," she called sweetly, sighing under her breath.

She unlocked the door but kept it chained, opening it only about a six inches or so into the room. Her full, glossy lips parted widely as she gasped – standing there in the hall, pale and soaking wet, was her sister.

"Sophie!" she nearly shouted, hurriedly opening the door and ushering her inside. The silver-haired girl barely had time to speak as her sister rushed around her, snatching up her heavy wet shawl and drooping hat, then pushing her quickly into the nearest chair.

She sat down, opening her mouth to speak – and then promptly sneezed. The blonde girl took this as her cue to begin speaking in her place.

"Sophie, my God!" Lettie began instead, sitting down across from her in a swing of her skirts. "You're soaked! Have you gone mad, going out in this horrid weather?"

She grimly shook her head, sniffling uncomfortably.

"I was in a rush," she said lowly, her voice broken and weak. "I didn't have time to … arrange a carriage."

"A rush? Why is that?" Lettie questioned, leaning forward curiously, intent on her sister's every word. The other girl only sniffled again, pressing her finger under the bottom of her nose – and then she sneezed, her wet hair falling limp about her face.

She stared at her with wide blue eyes, confused for a moment – and then, a cloud seemed to lift around her. She stood quickly, shaking her head and gesturing uselessly.

"What a perfect idiot I'm being," she said, scampering off toward her small kitchen. "You must be freezing! I'll make you some hot tea. You like chamomile, don't you, Sophie dear? And you absolutely _must_ change out of those wet clothes. Are you staying the night? Oh, you must – I have some spare nightgowns! Sophie , can I -"

She shook her head across the room, sighing and smiling in the same breath.

"Start with the tea, Lettie," she said in a lighthearted, albeit strained, voice, after which she settled back in the chair, looking about the room for the first time. It was modest, but still bared evidence of her sister's lavish taste – the elaborate lace curtains, for example – as well as her many admirers (two fresh bouquets of roses crowded the small dining room table).

At about this time, Sophie heard a slow, quiet creak behind her. She turned around, alarmed, and her pale lips fell open at the sight of Markl, his head peering cautiously around the door.

"Sophie?" he questioned, stepping hesitantly into the room. He still kept half an eye on Lettie, whose back was turned, her hands busied fixing tea in the kitchen. "Why are you here?"

She blinked, her mind racing to find an appropriate response. It seemed horrible to lie to him, Markl being such a mature, intelligent child, if still undeniably boyish and innocent at times – but at the same time, cruel to draw him into the situation. He was bound to be hurt – but also bound to find out the truth soon enough.

She opened and closed her mouth, struggling to speak, though she managed to force only an incoherent stuttering out. Markl frowned deeply at her, looking around the living room with wide, considering eyes.

"Where's Howl?" he asked slowly, blinking his green eyes. His next remark was tinged with the slightest sarcasm. "I thought you wanted to be inseparable on your honeymoon."

Sophie only managed to shake her head slowly, then turned it sharply as she heard Lettie's skirts brush back into her presence. She had set a large tray down on the table between them, and was pouring two cups of steaming tea, her expression mingled with confusion and concern.

"Yes," she said, tilting her pretty head, "Where _is_ Howl?"

Sophie held in her breath, stalling by reaching quickly for a cup of tea. She breathed in its hot vapors, releasing a long, tremendous sigh before bringing it to her lips, letting the warm liquid trickle down her throat, warming her lungs. When she swallowed and raised her eyes, she saw that Lettie was staring at her intently – and she could feel Markl's eyes sharp on her back. Both were waiting for her response.

"Howl and I," she began, taking another long, nervous sip of tea. "Howl and I … have had … a little disagreement."

Her sister's mouth dropped open, her blue eyes wide with obvious shock. Markl scampered around to the front of her chair, and stared at her with a similar expression, though his soon twisted into one of sudden fury.

"A falling out?" Lettie stuttered, setting her tea on the tray with a slight clatter. "On your _honeymoon_?"

"What did he _do_?" the redheaded boy asked angrily, stepping toward her. For a moment, Sophie was almost frightened, and she sat up more rigidly in her chair, staring at him in surprise. "I'll have a word with him _myself_!"

"What on Earth about?" her sister asked in a breathless, confused voice. "Surely you couldn't have … you've only been married a few _days_! Wait, he didn't find another woman – did he? I knew he was never one for commitment!"

"You'd be surprised how stupid he can be," Markl said easily, rolling his green eyes.

"Be quiet, both of you!" Sophie yelped, her eyes frighteningly wide in her passion. She slammed her tea on the tray, where it sloshed steaming over the edges of her cup, and narrowly missed tipping over completely. She drew her hands back toward her lap, not realizing how badly they were shaking. "Why do you automatically assume it's Howl's fault!"

She closed her eyes, breathing hard, trying to regain control of her mind. Lettie and Markl stared at her with equally shocked, blank expressions, neither of them sure what to do or say to comfort her. Meekly, the young boy moved forward, resting his small hand on her damp shoulder.

"He didn't do anything wrong," she muttered incoherently, weakly shaking her head. "It was all my fault …"

"Sophie," he said in a low, dejected voice, bending down to try and look her in the face. The silver-haired girl only bent her head away from him, covering her face in her hands to hide the tears that had snuck up on her, and were now burning her tired eyes, rolling unrestrained down her cool cheeks.

Unfortunately, this movement did anything but hide her. In turning away, her hair slipping back behind her shoulder, and she unknowingly bared her neck. Lettie gasped, her glossy lips parting in horror – and quickly she stood, taking Markl by the shoulder and ushering him away before he could have a chance to see.

"Come along, dear," she was saying, finally tearing her eyes away from her sister's pale throat. "It's time for bed now. Sophie and Auntie Lettie need to have a grown up talk. There's a good boy …"

"What?" Markl yelped. He struggled under her grasp, twisting away from her, but Lettie had tight hold of his forearm, and was pulling him helplessly toward the guest bedroom where he slept. He continued to fight, kicking at the floor, not taking his eyes off of the girl who sat still as death in her chair.

"Sophie!" he cried out. "Sophie, make her stop! I want to hear what happened!"

Slowly, she pulled her head up out of her hands, turning it listlessly toward his voice. She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, frowning miserably behind an exhausted, pale face. The sight stunned Markl, who ceased his struggle, staring at her with wide, anxious eyes.

"I need to talk with Aunt Lettie alone now, Markl," she said, in a voice that was uncharacteristically hollow. She smiled a little, though anyone could see it stood for nothing. "You and I can discuss it in the morning, all right?"

He nodded, flinching as his aunt again put her hand over his shoulder. He stared at her sadly, not wanting to look away, but afraid to go against her words.

"Okay," he said, rather pitifully. "You promise?"

"Cross my heart," she answered, smiling again in that ghost-like way, there one moment and fading away quickly the next, gone in the beat of an eye. "Good night, Markl."

"Good night, Sophie," he answered softly. For a moment, she thought he might run to her, bury his head in her skirts as he so often did; but, suppressed perhaps by the sullenness of the situation, he only cast her a pleading look before obediently going off to bed.

She flinched as he shut his door, her heart beating irregularly. The encounter had left her with the inescapable feeling that had penetrated her thoughts for hours now – how very wrong everything had become.

Lettie rushed back to her chair across from her sister as soon as Markl's door was safely shut, leaning forward in genuine, unwavering concern. Her eyes were still widened in shock, and Sophie knew by the way they followed the movements of her neck that she had seen it, and that now there was no chance to lie.

"Sophie," she said, again in that voice so breathless with surprise, "Did _Howl_ do that to you?"

Sophie pursed her lips, lowering her eyes to the hands that lay still and icy in her lap. She finally nodded, finding herself unable to look up at her sister's expression as she gasped again, this time so quickly her breath hitched in her throat.

"But … Sophie … did you … I mean … was this something that you enjoyed?"

She stood her head again, weakly, the movement barely perceptible. She was wringing her hands, trying desperately to be strong and honest in this, but finding herself unable to speak, to explain – even to feel.

"It hurt," she whispered, swallowing hard at her words. "But Howl … he didn't … didn't realize that …"

Lettie sat back rigidly in her chair, gripping at the arms with her perfect nails, the expression on her face having transcended from shock and confusion to absolute horror, and then, twisting her features and darkening her eyes, unmitigated disgust.

"That monster!" she yelped, shaking her head in disbelief. "How dare he!"

"It wasn't his …"

"I _knew_ those heart-eating rumors had to have a grain of truth!" she said, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the air, disgust still in complete control of her features. "That nasty – filthy – wanton - !"

"Really, Lettie!" Sophie cried out, with all the strength she could muster. "Listen to me. He didn't mean to do it – to hurt me, I mean."

"I'm not sure how you can _accidentally _sink your teeth into someone's throat," she answered nastily, still shaking her head in penetrating disapproval. "If anyone would have such _depraved_ interests, it would be a wizard! I should have gotten to know him better, before letting the man marry you …"

"I wouldn't say he has those interests at all," she replied rather meekly, a bit dismayed by the passion of her sister's response. "In fact, that's part of the problem. That's why I went to Calcifer, our fire demon, and asked that he - "

But Lettie had held up her hand, imploring her to stop. Her words tangled and fell away, and she nearly whimpered in her frustration, wringing her hands restlessly in her lap.

"You don't need to explain the details to me now, Sophie," she said firmly, her eyes dark but resolute, having regained full control of her thoughts. "Exactly how it happened can come later. The fact is, you're frightened and cold and confused, and what you need most right now is a hot bath, a warm meal and some dry clothes."

The silver-haired girl opened her mouth to protest, but then, as the incredible logic of this speech settled over her shivering body and exhausted mind, she found herself only nodding, reaching compulsively for her tea.

Lettie smiled painfully, standing from her chair.

"I'll fetch a clean nightgown for you," she said, looking down at her sister with an expression of compassion mingled with pity, both set to the backdrop of barely concealed anger. Sophie clung to her tea, taking in a deep sip, not so much as looking up as her sister walked away.

So intent was she, in fact, on her hot drink, she didn't hear her sister's furious mutterings as she disappeared into her bedroom.

"The absolute nerve of the man," she was whispering bitterly under her breath, shaking her head as if to break free of the image of his face. "Attacking my poor sister, knowing how sweet, how gentle, she is … the filthy _pervert_!"

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Yes! What a perv!

I tried in this chapter to make Sophie more "in character," as many people tell me that she is out of it. When I write her, I try to remember that she's torn between being strong-minded, loyal and loving with Howl and proper, as she was raised to be. I meant for the situation to be so much in conflict with this powerful aspect of her personality that she would hardly be herself – she would be desperate, frustrated, miserable, even furious – because she's human.

I don't know if that explains it properly, but I'm glad to see that so many people enjoy this, anyway, and I hope that I continue to live up to your expectations. Thank you!


	11. In Which Sophie Steps In

Her eyelids fluttered slowly open, wincing at the bright, golden sunlight that poured across her face. She sighed softly, turning onto her side even as the world came dreamily into focus: the unfamiliar nightgown whose lace collar itched at her neck, the soft rumbling of carts and cheerful voices from the street outside her window, the warmth of her sheets.

And then, crashing through it all like a boom of thunder, the knocking on her door.

"Come in," she called out wearily, blinking as she sat up on her elbows. The door creaked open, and there, standing looking awkward and confused in his white shift, was Markl.

"Sophie!" he whispered loudly from the doorway, as if someone outside would hear and stop him. "You'd better wake up. Something's happening downstairs!"

She took in a deep breath, trying to steady herself as her mind slowly came back to life. Fighting back the urge to yawn, she threw her legs over the side of the bed, arching her back as she did so.

"Something's happening?" she asked tiredly. "What is it?"

"Master Howl came to the bakery," Markl exclaimed in a rush, his words jumbling together in his urgency. "I went downstairs to help Aunt Lettie bake some cinnamon buns, and he was there, and they were yelling at each other!"

"Howl is _here_?" Sophie yelped, standing suddenly. Her head swam from the sudden movement. "Did he say what he wanted?"

"Yes," Markl answered meekly, bowing his head. "He wants to see you."

She winced, her chest seizing. Somehow, she hadn't expected him to chase after her this quickly – but of course, what else could she expect of him? She hadn't left a note, and even if she had expressly told him not to follow her, still, he would have come. How could she ever have thought it would be easy to find time to think?

She cursed in a whisper under her breath, wringing her hands as her mind searched for an answer of what to do.

"Sophie?" the little boy asked after a moment, his eyes wide under his mop of messy hair. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she answered quickly, if a little absently; her thoughts were tangled elsewhere.

"Why did you come here without Master Howl?" he asked, his words again falling out of him in a confused rush. "And how come Aunt Lettie is so angry with him? Did you have a fight?"

"Oh, Markl," she said, blinking in surprise before letting out a soft sigh. The boy stood meekly before her, and she realized for the first time that he was, in his helplessness, close to tears. "Come here."

She opened her arms to him, folding him against her chest in a warm embrace. He sniffled into her nightgown, holding her tightly.

"He's dumb sometimes," he mumbled against her, his voice filled suddenly with a miserable kind of fury. "He's done lots of stupid things, but I thought … I thought now that you got married he would stop!"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Sophie found herself saying, her voice soothing and gentle. "It's only for a little while. It's only for a little while that it has to be like this."

"But why!" Markl cried out, curling his fists into the fabric of her nightgown. "Why are you fighting? What did he do? I'll tell him to stop!"

"Oh, love, you don't have to do that," she continued in the same sweet voice, rocking him gently. "We'll work it out."

"He's dumb," Sophie heard him mutter in barely a whisper. She held him tightly against her for what seemed to be an endless moment, each second constricting the guilt and worry in her chest to the point of almost unbearable anxiety. She could hardly hold back tears herself, for the truth was that she doubted even her own words of comfort.

Would it only be a little while? Would they work this out so that everything could be perfect again?

She took in a deep breath, steadying herself once again. The only thing to do was to take this a step at a time; and the first step now was to confront her husband.

At last, she gently pushed Markl away, righting herself slowly. He looked up, surprised, his hands still curled into her nightclothes.

"Aunt Lettie said he couldn't see you! Maybe you should stay here," he said a little desperately, his face falling into a deep frown as she gently ruffled his hair with her hand.

"Aunt Lettie doesn't understand how stubborn Howl can be," she answered matter-of-factly. Very carefully, she pulled his hands from her nightgown, smoothing her hair as she walked unsteadily toward the door.

Markl did not answer; he only frowned anxiously, and then, as if unsure what else to do, he quietly followed after her.

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Lettie was carefully filling a glass display with rows of freshly baked raspberry tarts, her full lips frowning in her concentration, when she heard the bell of the bakery door chime loudly. At first, this did not alarm her in the least; there were other girls to greet the early morning customers, and so she did not look up from her work, delicately arranging another tart in a perfect row.

Then she heard one of the girls gasp, her heels clicking against the floor as she rushed forward, making a little bow.

"Good morning, Wizard Howl, sir!" she said cheerfully, though anxiety riddled her pretty voice. "What can we get for you today?"

Lettie nearly dropped a tart, so quickly did her eyebrows shoot up in alarm. In a moment she had completely forgotten her task, and had righted herself beautifully behind the counter, her arms crossed, her blue eyes narrowed icily. In her poofy pink uniform, she might have been comical were it not for the gravity of the situation.

"Good morning indeed," she said loudly, her voice sour. Immediately, Howl turned to her, and Lettie, despite herself, nearly recoiled in surprise. So used was she to Howl's perfect grooming that it was shocking to see him as he was – his hair slightly unkempt, his shirt pulled halfway out of his pants, no perfume sweetening the air. It seemed he had rushed here immediately after climbing out of bed.

But quickly, she gathered herself, dismissing the miserable, confused expression that marred his lovely features.

"Not here for pastries, I assume," she continued in her dark voice.

"No," he said, and she realized that he was panting. Perhaps he _had_ rushed here straight from bed. "My wife, actually."

"Sophie?" Lettie asked, her voice rising to an unnaturally high note. "Hmm. No. I haven't seen Sophie since leaving your castle with little Markl."

"She's not here?" he asked, walking quickly toward her. She straightened her shoulders in alarm, steeling herself again as he approached. Up close, his face seemed even more distressed, his blue eyes dark and frantic – but of course, she had to remember that the man was a wizard! A conniving, perverted wizard who was used to fooling pretty girls!

"No," Lettie answered coldly, shaking her head. "I haven't seen her. But shouldn't you know where she is? You're on your _honeymoon_, after all."

The word "honeymoon" seemed to have a swift effect on the wizard, and in a moment, he stood frozen, his lips turned down in a most pathetic frown. Again, she continued to fight against his act, rebelling against her instinct to sympathize with him.

"She left the castle last night," he said a little shakily. "Calcifer informed me of it, but she didn't tell him where she'd gone. You're the first person to whom she would turn – you're the first place she'd go."

"Did your fireplace happen to tell you _why_ she'd left?" she asked maliciously, her arms still folded against her chest. "It must be such a mystery to you."

Howl's expression seemed to collapse in on itself, and Lettie, had she not known better, might have thought that the darkness flooding his downcast eyes was the shadow of a great deal of shame.

"I get the feeling," he said, for the first time letting the desperation fade out of his voice, replaced by a strange, quiet strength, "That you know already what happened."

The blonde girl studied him coldly for a long moment, her furious eyes staring him down as she breathed heavily, struggling to control the anger that threatened to overpower her. Already their conversation was drawing curious looks from customers, and she knew that if she raised her voice, there would be a scene.

"If I were you," she said at last, icily and with a tone of finality, "I would let her go. Don't chase her down like this – just let her be, and move on with your life."

His blue eyes flashed to hers, and again, she found herself jolted with surprise – suddenly they were wild again, passionate and desperate in a way almost equal to the fear she had seen in her sister just the night before.

"I can't just let her go!" he said, his voice rising, his body pulling itself up into a posture that nearly matched her own. "She's my _wife_! I love her!"

By now several of the bakery customers were outright staring at them, unnoticed by the pair. Unnoticed just as much was Sophie, who had by this time crept down the stairway leading from the upstairs apartment to the bakery below. She was hidden behind the door, listening intently to their words but too frightened to interfere.

Her heart jumped, even soared, at his words.

"Love her!" Lettie exclaimed in a terse whisper, her low voice dangerously close to the breaking point. Sophie realized immediately that things had just now taken a sudden turn for the worst. "If you love her so much, why did you _hurt_ her!"

"I can explain that," Howl answered quickly, his voice desperate again, uncharacteristically shrill. It made her feel uneasy, that tone, so used was she to Howl's mystery and confidence. Rarely before had she heard him sound so helpless, and the sound of it made her stomach twist with guilt.

"Oh, I'm sure you can," Lettie hissed again. "I'm sure you have a thousand explanations. But the reality is, you hurt my sister. You – you _molested_ her! So if you think you can just waltz in here and drag her back to your little lair in the mountains, you've got another thing coming!"

"So she _is_ here!" Howl exclaimed, his voice brightening slightly even in the face of his sister-in-law's onslaught. "I knew this was where she'd come!"

"Here or not, I'm asking you to leave this bakery," Lettie replied angrily, her arms still crossed firmly against her chest. "Right now."

"I'm not leaving here," Howl answered just as firmly, his blue pendent shimmering in the morning light, "Until I talk to Sophie."

"No!" the blonde girl yelped, her pretty lips twisting up in anger. "Don't think for one second that I'll give you any chance to use some nasty magical mind trick on her!"

"I would never bewitch Sophie!" Howl replied heatedly, his voice rising again. For the first time, Sophie caught the hint of true anger in his voice – and again, with the irony of his words, her stomach sunk with the knowledge of what she had done. She had practically orchestrated all of this, drawn even Lettie into it! Her sister was protecting her against a man who had done nothing but try to make her happy, at least, in every way he knew how.

Lettie snorted furiously at this, shaking her head slowly.

"Get out of this shop!" she said loudly, pointing suddenly to the door. The eyes of the curious onlookers followed her hand, but Howl stared evenly at her, his expression intimidating and strong.

Sophie, still hidden behind the door, suddenly realized just how brave it was of Lettie to stand up to a man with such obvious power.

"At least let me talk to her!" he continued loudly, stubbornly, passionately, stepping forward at once. "Give me ten minutes. Let her decide for herself if she wants to come home!"

"She's already made her choice!" Lettie announced piercingly.

"Sophie wouldn't leave me without giving me a chance to explain!" he shouted back. Several of the customers now stepped back in fear, clutching their baskets to their chests. Most of the women, at least, recognized the famous heart-eating Wizard Howl.

"There's nothing to explain, you _pervert_!" Lettie cried out, releasing her arms only to clench them in fists at her sides.

Sophie took in a long, deep breath. It was overwhelmingly clear to her that things were on their way to getting very, very ugly, and that if she didn't step in now, things could very well get out of control. And besides – the guilt riddling her mind was driving her forward, urging her to defend her husband, who was, after all, really very innocent in all of this – if his innocence had triggered her misguided plans in the first place.

Gathering all the resolve she could muster, Sophie stepped out swiftly from behind the door, raising her chin with as much strength as she could summon from the anxiety that dominated her mind.

"He's not a pervert, Lettie," she said loudly, her voice trembling with the effort.

And humbly, she turned away her face, blushing as all eyes turned to her.

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Sorry that this chapter took so long to put out. Heh heh … put out. All of the reviews really helped to inspire me to keep going, even when I felt a little bit of writer's block. ) I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Please review!


	12. In Which Sophie Confesses

"He's not a pervert, Lettie," Sophie said loudly, her voice trembling with the effort.

And humbly, she turned away her face, blushing as all eyes turned to her.

Howl's eyes were perhaps the most difficult from which to turn away. Even in the brief moment she stared into them, she was overrun with his emotions; the surprise in his widened blue orbs, the stillness that meant his uncertainty, and most striking of all, their intense regret.

"Sophie," he said softly under his breath. Lettie only stared, perhaps shocked into silence by the sight of her sister standing there so awkwardly in her nightgown, the customers now holding their hands to their mouths as they stared.

Howl took a step forward, hesitating for a moment, and then another, and another, until all at once she was wrapped in his warmth, his scent. For a moment she lost herself in it, didn't resist at all the gentle hand on the back of her neck that guided her head to the curve of his shoulder. She breathed slowly, heavily, unable to speak.

"I'm sorry, Sophie," he was whispering to her, his breath moist against her cheek. "I'm so very, very sorry."

"But you have nothing to be sorry for," she found herself saying, almost in a tone of wonder. She felt dazed, drawn into the moment as if it were a black hole of loveliness. To forgive and forget – it was so simple! Wasn't this all she had ever wanted?

"No," Howl continued firmly, and then, nearly breaking the moment, he gently pushed back her shoulders so as to look brazenly into her eyes. "I should have sensed the spell, shaken it off. I'm stronger than that, and I let it catch me off guard."

"But it wasn't your fault!" she protested, forgetting the eyes that darted intently between them as they spoke. "You could never have guessed it would happen. You had every right to be unsuspecting!"

"In a way, you're right," the raven-haired boy nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly with an anger he kept reserved. "I trusted him. But still, Sophie. Next time, it could be someone truly out to hurt you, and I can't be tricked that easily again. It's my duty to protect you."

"You trusted … him?" she asked, her insistent voice falling into a whisper.

"We both did," he said, his eyes again darkening with thoughts only Sophie could sense. "He told me everything. Cast it in a jealous rage, he said. He couldn't stand not having your attention, he said. He told me he never meant to hurt you, only drive you away from me."

Sophie blinked slowly, her eyes widening in unspoken horror. She could see easily in his face that it was true, that he really believed this. His eyes, normally bright and carefree, were overcast and withdrawn, hung over with a sense of dark brooding. His beautiful smile was constricted into a thin, strained line. He looked so pale – betrayal was etched over every inch of him.

And unable to resist it, she thought, is this how he'll look at me when he finds out who really ordered the spell?

She wanted to reach out, to touch his face and comfort him, say anything that might make it all right – but she couldn't. Her mind was swimming with every possibility of what to do, what to say. She could accept this and go back with him – and yet she couldn't punish Calcifer for what she'd willingly done herself. She could tell the truth of what she'd done, and watch his love for her shatter in doubt and disbelief.

Her lips quivered, and before she could even consider what was right or wrong, she was speaking.

"I forgive you," she said suddenly, letting the words tumble out of her in a gasp of breath.

Howl blinked slowly, and then, as if in a dream, he smiled softly. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful smile, subtle, but perfectly revealing the quiet joy, the relief, he felt. It was a smile that would haunt Sophie relentlessly in the days to come.

"Thank you," he said in the same perfect way, softly, his gratitude expressed with such genuine affection she thought she might break down right there. Why did he have to make it so painful to have wronged him?

He took a tiny step forward, his hands on her shoulders gently pulling her toward him. She let herself go to him, let her eyes half close, and for one aching, terrible moment, she realized that if she only kissed him, only lied, it could all just go on.

She pressed her lips together, and then, with a broken cry, she shook herself free, stepping backward.

"What am I saying?" she cried out, speaking more to herself than to him, her eyes pressed closed in her passion. Tears burned behind them, seeping down onto her cheeks. "You've done nothing! You've done _nothing_!"

"Sophie!" she heard him say, and his hands were on her again, soothing, gentle, calm, but again she twisted out of them. Lettie was calling to her as well, her voice anxious, but she hardly recognized it – her mind was too lost in her own frantic thoughts.

She was breathing wildly, panting, and when she opened her eyes, they mirrored her turmoil – wide, bloodshot, tears staining her pale cheeks.

"It's me who needs forgiveness," she said, her voice weak, hoarse. "You see – I cast the spell."

"Sophie, you couldn't have – "

"I asked Calcifer to do it for me. I didn't mean for what happened to happen, but it did. And it was my doing."

For a long moment, she couldn't breathe. Her eyes were locked with his, and in an instant she saw what she had feared most. His eyes were wide, stunned, and filled with a kind of horror Sophie had never seen in them. Maybe for the first time in his life he was looking at a thing worse than war or curses or death – maybe her goodness had been the one thing he had counted on.

He was shaking his head in disbelief, but she could see that he knew now the truth of what had happened.

"That spell," he said slowly, clearly trying to summon again her innocence out of this, "If not to make me – then what?"

Sophie stared at him, trembling. Her lips could form no words. Her mind was blank, a vast ocean of white. Then what? What had made her do this to their perfect love? Was it simply pure selfishness? Or was it really just for sex? For sex!

She couldn't say it, and so she didn't.

"I can't tell you," she whispered, shaking her head slowly, wanting horribly to reach out and hold him while knowing how incredibly inappropriate that would be.

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?" Howl was saying, rising a little out of his shock. She could hear just the slightest tremor of anger in his voice, an anger that felt completely unnatural when brought against her.

It was a horrible, horrible thing to say. It was possibly the worst thing she could say, and yet, it was the only thing. She wasn't ready to admit what felt suddenly like an even worse secret.

She shook her head again, wishing she could just go.

"I just can't," she said softly, forcing herself to breath. "I just can't."

"Sophie," he said, his voice firm, but desperately so; she could again sense the rising anger, the frustration he was fighting so desperately against in the name of loving her. "You have to tell me. If you can't tell me, we can't …"

His voice trailed off, but Sophie's mind eagerly filled in the blanks. We can't go home together? We can't be husband and wife? I can't love you for all your trickery and lies?

"I know," she said, fighting the urge to end this and run, run away forever. "I know that. Just give me … give me three days. Give me three days, and then I'll tell you everything. I just need some time to think. Some time to … breathe."

She hung her head, feeling her hands begin to shake.

"Three days?" he repeated. The anger again – oh, why couldn't he just scream at her?

"Yes," she said weakly. "Please – just give me time."

There was a pause, an excruciatingly long pause. She couldn't bear to look at him, but felt instinctively his cold, tense eyes on her, frightened inside more than anything of what she wasn't saying.

"I don't really have a choice in it, do I?" he said at last. His voice was frigid, and it shocked her so much that she lifted her head. He was staring at her with his beautiful wide eyes, and all she could see, suddenly, in that moment, was that they were broken. Broken, broken – he didn't believe in her any longer.

She blinked away fresh, hot tears, and was about to call out to him, wildly, desperately, when she felt gentle hands on her arms. Lettie had come behind her, and she was holding her firmly in place, her blue eyes piercing the man before her.

"I think you should go now," she said lowly. Sophie felt herself fall back onto her sister's weight, exhausted, the world a terrible haze.

She watched Howl nod briefly. He looked at her again, his eyes alive with a darkness that consumed her like cold fire, before gathering himself up.

"Three days, Sophie," he said, pressing his lips firmly together as if he meant to say more. She opened her lips to call out to him, to say in one word the pain that she felt, but in an instant, it seemed, he was gone.

Lettie was ushering her back up the stairway, muttering soothing words to her as she cried. Within minutes she found herself arranged at the kitchen table, a blanket over her shoulders and warm tea in front of her, tears still burning her eyes.

Her sister leaned toward her from the other side of the table, and Sophie looked up, letting out a whimper of pained helplessness as she placed her warm hand over her own. Somehow, no words needed to be said.

And Sophie, exhausted, bowed her head to explain the truth.

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Lettie frowned, taking a long sip of the tea that had long grown cold in front of her. Across from her at the table, her silver-haired sister sat listlessly, her eyes staring out blankly in front of her except for the sadness that still misted over the warm, chocolate brown orbs. Too fatigued to speak, she waited only for her sister's response.

"Well," the blonde girl said at last with a short sigh of her own, "I suppose I was a bit harsh on the man."

Sophie nodded weakly, swallowing in her throat.

"My fault, that," she said in a whisper.

Lettie shrugged, leaning forward again to try and catch her sister's eye.

"You mustn't be so hard on yourself with this, Sophie," she said, her voice calm and reassuring, though it seemed to have almost no effect on the exhausted girl before her. "It turned out badly, but you had good intentions for the spell. What you wanted – it's perfectly natural. There isn't anyone who can say they never wanted that – _especially_ from a husband you've been living with for a year."

"I lied to him," she answered listlessly. "I tricked him. I bewitched him. I practically _poisoned_ him at breakfast."

"But you were confused," Lettie protested, squeezing her hand a little desperately. "You must have been stunned when nothing – well – happened. It isn't something you can really come out and ask for, is it? What could you do, other than wait and do nothing? You only wanted to make things right."

"Yes," Sophie sighed bitterly. "But for what? For a night of … carnal pleasure?"

"It means more than that," her sister answered solemnly. "You know that it does."

"Do I?" the silver-haired girl spat. "Does it? What I'd love to know is where love stops and lust begins. Why did I _need_ it so badly when I was already so happy? I don't, really. I married him _because_ I was already happy …"

"As I said," Lettie continued carefully, "It's perfectly natural. You did nothing wrong in wanting it."

"Only in trying to draw it out of him against his will by some black magic spell I couldn't understand!" Sophie cried out, her breath hitching in the shadow of bitter laughter.

"That may have been a bit behind his back, yes," the blonde girl admitted, "But again. Your heart was in the right place."

"My body, not my heart," she corrected cynically.

"Both," Lettie softly answered.

For a long moment, her sister only stared down blankly into her cold tea, her thin body still as a statue. Whatever thoughts ran through her mind, she didn't speak; and as the seconds stretched into minutes, she at last took in a long, deep breath.

"So what should I do, then?" she whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"You take the three days," her sister answered gently, "And prepare to be honest."

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Oh, but three days leaves plenty of time for things to get worse!

The next chapter may actually be from Howl's point of view. Quite the change, yes? I'm not sure what more to say other than to thank everyone for reviewing. The long ones, especially, are heartwarming and certainly inspiring.

Please review!


	13. In Which Howl Engages In Verbal Wordplay

The prince had thought it might be difficult to find the home of a wizard once infamous for slinking around the countryside like a cat stalking its prey, but to his pleasant surprise, he seemed to have finally established a permanent (and indeed, well known) residence. Between their adoring glances and flustered bows, all the innkeepers he'd met along the way had been more than eager to point him in the right direction.

He sighed under his breath, absently smoothing the papers beneath his gloved hand. Truth be told, the lack of difficulty was rather depressing. A Howl still living in the shadows kept alive the vision that he was dragging his beloved Sophie down into a life of depravity; but their apparent home, described as being perched on the crest of a hill surrounded by fields of flowers, demonstrated a man more dedicated to pleasing his love than he would have liked. It showed he was committed to settling down, to living cheerfully and normally in the open, and even (he shuttered to think of it) to starting a family.

He looked down passively at the letters that lay under his fingertips. She'd written to him faithfully, describing events such as improving the flower garden and redecorating the main room in great detail and mentioning her wizard lover little. However, he'd managed to work out the man's weaknesses by her few mentions.

"Howl insisted on bluebells near the window." Clearly, he was a man that ruled the household with an iron fist.

"Howl forbade Markl from ever attempting the spell inside the house again, save we lose more than the curtains next time." Yes, a harsh disciplinarian.

"Our fire demon sneezed a cloud of ash on Howl's favorite silk cape. He was furious." With obvious anger management issues, and vain on top of it all.

She'd of course hinted at the wedding, not being a woman prone to dishonesty, but had conveniently failed to mention a date or include an invitation. No doubt the wizard's doing, and so, after a few days shut up in his bedroom, he had forgiven her. Visions of storming the wedding with a small army had slipped in and out of his mind, of course, but in the end he realized that Sophie was not a lady to be won over by force.

She was one, however, who clearly possessed a good deal of common sense – and he intended to use that entirely to his advantage.

He started, jolted from his thoughts, at a sharp knocking on the carriage door. Swiftly, he pulled up the shade, looking down gravely into his Captain's face.

"Sire, we are now approaching the premises," the man said firmly. And sure enough, beyond the glimmer of sunlight on the man's silver helmet, he could see a grassy hill rising up into the distance, its peak covered with blurs of brilliant color that could only be large patches of flowers.

"Most excellent," he replied, straightening his tie with a sharp jerk of his hand. "I don't believe the trumpets shall be necessary this time."

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"Howl, someone is approaching the castle!"

A man snorted unhappily in the chair pulled closest to the fire, his eyes pressing shut in protest beneath his disheveled mop of raven hair. Drearily, he opened one eye, his pupil drifting slowly up toward the ceiling.

He slammed his bottle weakly against the hearth, grunting slightly with the effort.

"No," he mumbled loudly, "Don't … don't cut me off. I just … one more drink!"

Calcifer scowled as he sunk lower into the hissing dark flames gathered beneath the single charred log that sustained him, mumbling choice words in quite unhappy little puffs of ash.

"You're not at a bar, you incompetent, pathetic lush," he said loudly, eying the bottle with cynic disgust. "You're in your filthy, equally pathetic dark castle, near to which a carriage and a bunch of men on horseback are approaching."

The man shot up out of the chair, swaying heavily with the effort. After nearly falling over, he braced his two hands on the hearth, his blue eyes sparkling for a moment out of the murky darkness.

"Sophie?" he questioned, blinking heavily as he tried to smile.

"Not unless she's taken up traveling with a horde of armed guards," the fire demon answered tartly, rolling his glowing coal eyes.

He settled back in his chair with a muffled thud, his shoes skidding against the floor as he tried desperately to push himself upright. An exasperated groan came from the very center of the hearth, along with another sigh of smoke.

"You're lucky it isn't her," Calcifer continued drolly. "I wouldn't touch you, let alone take you back into my loving arms. Even the green slime was better than this."

"Ish it … the King?" he asked, alarm creeping into his slurring voice.

"Don't think so," the demon replied curtly. "Better hope not – you'll be out of a job if it is. Who would trust an immensely powerful spell concocted by a wasted wizard? Even I couldn't explain away that one."

"Then … who?" he asked, blinking again at the black log in front of him.

"How should I know?" he snorted. "Someone rich. You know, Sophie will kill you when she sees this. The castle is a filthy mess. I think those spirits of darkness even killed the herbs she was growing by the window."

The drunk man sighed heavily, letting the bottle drop from his hand with a loud chink. He eyed it with blank curiosity as it rolled toward the table, then let his eyes drift mindlessly back toward the small crimson fire.

"Sophie already … hates me," he groaned, tilting his head back into the darkness. The snarled raven hair fell away, revealing a pale, gaunt, exhausted face. "She … mhmm. I miss Sophie."

"Now there's an understatement," the demon hissed from beneath his log. "This is absolute proof that you're nothing without her. Worse than nothing. A drunk, stupid, filthy nothing."

"Stupid," he moaned, blinking lazily. "So .. so .. stupid."

"Yes," Calcifer said firmly. "Yes, you're an idiot. Not because this is exactly your fault but because you're here completely incapacitating yourself when you could be seducing your wife back to where she ought to be, which is right here with me, in that chair you're defiling."

"Mhmm," Howl answered drearily. "Remember how .. how she never cared what I was wearing?"

"Sure I do," the fire demon answered gruffly. "But then again, none of us did. Only those girls you used to … yeah, well. But that's not even the start of it. Remember how she would give me a really yummy stick of wood on Sundays?"

"Yeah … and make … that bread with … nuts."

"A really thick, delicious stick."

"Eat it hot with … uhh … butter."

"Mmmm. Birch."

"And she looked really pretty in her … nightgown."

Calcifer paused a moment, silently raising his burning eyebrows. For a long moment, he simply stared appraisingly at the drunk before him, and then tentatively began his questioning.

"By pretty, do you by any chance mean … curvaceous? Alluring? Sensuously revealing?"

Howl took in a long, slow breath, his eyes closing as he let his head fall back again. A dribble of drool was making its way down his chin.

"No," the fire demon said sullenly to himself. "I didn't think it would be that easy."

He sunk lower onto his coals, cringing as the man before him let out what sounded like a half-choked snore. Estimating that the log would last until Howl sobered up (provided he had no more bottles in hiding), he settled down for a long, well-deserved rest.

And then, suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door.

He shot his flames up around the log immediately, his eyes narrowing intensely on the door. Cracking briskly at full attention, he leaned as close to the sleeping drunk seated before him as he could.

"Howl!" he hissed loudly. "Wake up! It's the scarecrow! He's back!"

The raven-haired man stirred, but barely, his eyelids sliding open to reveal blank, glazed-over eyes. He groaned a little as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Don't be daft, Calshifers," he answered mockingly. "The scarecrow turned into a prinsh, remember?"

"A prince in love with your wife!" the demon nearly shouted, his red-orange flames licking the top of the hearth. "Now listen, you idiot! I may have been your understanding buddy up until this point, but if you let that blonde creampuff steal my Sophie, I'll have your severed limbs for kindling!"

Howl sat up slowly, bracing his weight on the arm of the chair.

"Are you saying he wants … Sophie?" he asked, squinting in the harsh darkness.

"Yes! Yes, you drunk fool, that's exactly what I'm saying!" the demon hissed again. "Now go out there and … I don't know … turn him into a donkey or something!"

"She'll just kish him and make him blonde again," he spat resentfully.

"Then erase Sophie from his memory! Send his carriage flying back a thousand miles! Make him fall in love with some other girl! I don't know but do something, you idiotic almighty wizard!"

"Right," he answered, standing suddenly. He swerved violently, his ash-covered cape sliding to the floor. "I'll jush tell him to … go away."

"What? No!" the demon shrieked, rising up out of the hearth as high as he could, but it was too late. His former master was already stumbling toward the doorway, his raven hair sticking up unattractively on one side of his head. He could see only his backside now, but he wouldn't have been surprised if there was still drool running down his chin.

Howl flung open the door, leaning against it for balance.

A frighteningly perfect face filled the open doorway, surrounded by several fierce-looking guards in shining silver armor. The blonde man bowed neatly, taking his hat from his head as he did so, then righted himself with a charming smile.

"Why, my old friend, the great Wizard Howl," he said graciously. "Surely you remember me from our old adventures when I was merely a ragged but friendly scarecrow?"

The raven-haired man narrowed his eyes deeply, a lopsided scowl sinking into his face.

"Go away," he said loudly, blinking slowly before pushing the door shut. A guard on one side of the prince caught it easily, holding it open with a metal-gloved hand.

"Come now, Wizard Howl, surely you do remember," the prince continued, his smile a bit uneasy now, and certainly forced. "I wonder, is Miss Sophie available for introduction?"

"She's not Miss Sophie anymore, Prince," Howl spat triumphantly. "She's Miss Howl … I mean Miss Jenkins Sophie Howl … Miss Sophie Howl … she's my wife!"

The Prince stiffened, his lovely practiced smile slipping away into something of an ugly, disgruntled frown. Narrowing his own eyes, he placed his hat stiffly back on the top of his head.

"Really," he asked tartly. "Were you married quite recently?"

"Yesh, quite recently," Howl replied with a slight tilt of his head. "In fact, you are quite interrupting our honeymoon."

"Really," the Prince continued icily. "My apologies. I do wonder, however, why it is that I was not warranted an invitation for such a felicitous event?"

"Probably because you swore to return and seduce her," Howl replied with equal, if more clumsy, contempt. "But maybe I just don't like yellow."

Though it seemed impossible, the Prince stood yet more rigid, his frown stiffening into a scowl frightening enough to send a shiver down the back of any typical man. For a long moment, he said nothing, then gave each of his guards a cold, meaningful glance before turning back to the man before him.

"Quite understandable," the Prince said shortly. "You may be surprised to realize, however, that since said proclamation your _wife_ and I have become quite tenderhearted friends. We've kept in touch through rather frequent written correspondence."

"I was aware of such a correspondence," Howl answered stiffly. He blinked several times, trying to keep his focus steady.

"Then you are aware that I am aware that you are nothing but a vain, impertinent and violent individual to whom the affections of a woman possessing the beauty and grace of my beloved Sophie are completely and totally undeserving, if not indeed blasphemous?"

The raven-haired man straightened his back, coldly staring down the man on his doorstep with a nasty look that was returned in full force. Finally, he took in a long, deep breath, clutching the side of the door for support as he stood.

"Bastard," he spat. "You smell like apples."

The Prince recoiled slightly, stunned, before his mouth fell open in disgust.

"Good God, sir," he spoke in unmasked horror. "Are you under the influence?"

"That is completely irrelevant to thish … verbal wordplay."

"I should have known, an alcoholic on top of it all," the blonde man muttered to himself in revulsion. He looked up suddenly, his narrowed eyes filled with renewed passion. "Do you mean to say you've intoxicated yourself on your _honeymoon_?"

"That is completely irrelevant to thish … no."

"Tell me you haven't forced Sophie to join in this debauchery!" the Prince nearly shrieked, pushing forward against the door to have a better look inside the castle. "Where is she? I need to speak with her immediately!"

"I shink …" Howl began with a deep, unsteady breath, his hand tightening on the door. "That I'm going to have to tell you to … go away … now."

"I won't leave here until I witness Sophie in a secure and mindful state!" the blonde man hissed, taking a step forward. The wizard widened his eyes, sliding a bit further behind the door.

"She doesn't want to shee you," he blurted out aggressively. "She finds your attentiveness to be … quite creepy!"

"Nonsense!" he shouted, now attempting to pry the door open with his pale, lovely hands. "Sophie would never find me creepy in any sense! Now open this door immediately, in the name of the Throne!"

"Wrong country!" Howl hissed, shoving the door a few inches closer to being closed. From the corner of his eye, he saw the guards reach down for their swords.

"Allow my entrance, or my guards and I shall storm your shabby excuse for a …!"

"Take one step into this castle and you will all transhform instantaneously into donkeys!" the raven-haired man yelled, pushing desperately against the door. The Prince pushed back with equal force, but behind him, Howl saw the barely perceptible sight of the guards' eyes widening in hesitation.

"Yesh!" he said, seizing the moment even in his drunkenness. "Donkeys! My evil fire minion and I have laid this trap upon the castle as protection against intruders such as yourselves! Not even a kiss could save you!"

The Prince laughed, but as he turned back to make his orders, he too saw the fear that Howl had witnessed gripping his men.

"You fools!" he screamed, laughing a little wildly still. "Can't you see the man is lying?"

The guard to his right frowned, then slowly, hesitantly, spoke.

"Yes, but Sire, even you were turned into a scarecrow."

"And you were a scarecrow for a long time, Sire," the guard to his left added, grimacing at the doorway where Howl stood bracing the door, attempting to look as malicious as possible.

"Nonsense! Rubbish! Have you no courage for the sake of a lady!" the Prince continued to shout, pushing desperately at the door that was slowly, painstakingly, being shut on his face. "Have you no honor! No _loyalty_ to the Throne! Well, have you!"

"With all due respect, Your Highness," the first guard spoke tentatively, "We would be no help to the lady as donkeys, as it were."

"And most unfortunately, a donkey would have no honor at all, Sire," the other conceded.

Howl heaved all his weight against the door, a smirk blooming slowly from his mouth.

"I'll be back with an army, Wizard!" the blonde shrieked as the window on his face grew steadily thinner and thinner. "Mark my words, you've not seen the last of me!"

"You always were shush a shtick in the mud, Prince," the raven-haired man sang out, laughing triumphantly as he finally pushed the door closed. He locked it with a resoundingly click, then collapsed against it, still laughing hysterically, tears running down his face.

"Fantastic job, Howl," Calcifer called out cynically from his place in the hearth. He rolled his glowing eyes as the man's laughs collapsed into fitful giggles, letting out a long tunnel of smoke as he sighed. "There's only one problem."

"Shank you, Calshifer," he announced happily in reply. "What problem?"

"We're safe in here," he answered, letting his eyes drift meaningfully toward the window overlooking the town. "But we've locked him out there – with Sophie."

Howl frowned, his head jerking toward the window.

"And it's only a matter of time," the fire demon continued eerily, "Before he finds out exactly where she's hiding."

"Bastard," he swore under his breath, narrowing his blue eyes. "You had to strike when I wash … vulnerable."

"Pity," the demon said drearily from the hearth, and then, with a cruel amount of enthusiasm creeping back into his raspy voice, "Well, then. Time for the first cold shower of your miserable, pampered life."

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Drunk Howl: The aushress … would like you to know that it wash very difficult to portray me both in character and drunk, whish is why I wash prevailing drunk.

Prince: And yes. I am a true nutjob excessively fond of the word "quite". That was quite intentional.

Ms. Rose: Is there anything else you'd like to say to our audience?

Drunk Howl: Yesh. In regards to the apple reference – apples, I am shorry. You do not shmell that mush.

Prince: SOPHIE! SOPHIE, IF YOU'RE LISTENING – I'M ON MY WAY! Don't let his mind spells fool you any longer!

Drunk Howl: I would shink of shomething clever to shay, but I'm too … washted.


End file.
